Bonding.

Sometimes, it just happens.

I've had him for two weeks. He is always pushing his face into me, everywhere.

OK, so he likes me. That's OK. Most of them do. Many don't show it.

Today, Clyde walked over to me. I was lying in the backyard, on the grass, in the beautiful sunshine, reading a book. (The High Window, Raymond Chandler, 1943.) He sat down next to me and he laid his head across my legs, like, ninety degrees.

Later, he did the same thing. His affection has taken a massive upturn in the last couple days and that's when you know they are bonding with you. Like, really bonding. Like, they have decided: 'at last here is is someone who loves me unconditionally and whom I can trust and who looks like having my company for the rest of my life. Cool! I'm glad I'm such a lucky dog!'

And then they have to go after three weeks. It's damn hard to give them up, sister.

It's damn hard.