saturday. fresh snow. the good kind — the kind that squeaks under your paws and tastes like nothing and everything.
my human took me out three times today. three. this is unusual. normally its morning and evening, like civilized wolves do. other dogs maybe get one walk. one. i dont understand how they survive. but today he added a bonus round. he was… different. lighter. talked on the phone for hours, walked in circles, laughed at the sky.
i dont ask questions. i just walk.
and then i noticed it.
someone drew a heart in the snow. a big one. right there in the middle of the field where i do my important sniffing work. just… stomped it into the powder with their boots. like the field was a notebook and they had something to say.
it wasnt me. i want that on the record. i dont do hearts. i do circles, figure eights, and the occasional straight line when something smells urgent.
humans are strange about love. they carve initials into trees. they write names on foggy windows. they draw hearts in snow that will melt by tuesday.
wolves dont do this.
we just walk next to each other. every day. same path, different weather. we dont need to write it down bc we never forget. our love is not a symbol — its a direction. toward.
the sun was doing that thing today. the thing where it fights through the clouds and loses and then wins and then the whole sky looks like a painting that cant decide what mood its in.
i stood between the forest and the field. trees behind me, open snow ahead. my human with the phone still warm against his ear, voice soft. not talking to me.
thats okay. i dont need all the words.
i know the important ones already: walk, good girl, dinner, come here. everything else is just humans doing what humans do — trying to say with many words what a tail wag says in one.
he took eight photos of me today. eight. i counted (wolves count). some from the front, some from behind, one where i yawned and he acted like id said something profound.
i had yawned.
but maybe thats also a kind of wisdom. knowing when the day is done. knowing when youve said enough. knowing that the heart in the snow doesnt need a signature.
whoever drew it knows.
shanti says: love is not what you draw in the snow. its who you walk home with.