I have one of those incurable diseases.
Every time I see a puppy up for adoption.
I instantly know its name.
And want to take it home.
Like the other day.
At Market Days.
There was a small, wire-haired mutt.
Reminded me of Benji.
And as I leaned over the cage to scratch behind his ears.
I knew his name was Bill Murray.
And I could see him in the crook of my knees.
And you should know that I was immediately upset with you.
For not being around quite yet.
Because I just know.
You'd have a backyard.
For Bill Murray to run around in.
And I'd have a way.
Of convincing you he belonged in that yard.
In that crook.
With that name.
Love,
Me.
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