(part 2) Goldie’s human paused and regarded me for a moment with a hint of a smile. I turned to face her, tamping down my natural inclination to run the trails.
I noticed that though the brim of her cap shaded her eyes from the bright afternoon light, it couldn’t hide her innate warmhearted self.
There was purpose in her manner, that was for sure; although why she stopped escaped me. I waited a long minute in anticipation; a bit impatient. I hoped that I might get a glimpse of why she halted on the trail.
‘Jack,’ she said finally, her voice full of affection, ‘you are indeed a fluff butt.’
Slowly, as if I had any hope of stopping it, I felt the discomfort at my tail being the center of conversation. I had yet to grow accustomed to comments about my poofy tail. I was embarrassed. I didn’t have to be, but I was. And I didn’t know to be otherwise.
At 5, I had yet to learn how to love all my parts. In that moment, tired of the constant shame that accompanied talk of my tail, I vowed to try.
For Goldie’s human had made the comment with all the affection friends share with one another. Her words were not meant as invective, but rather affectionate ribbing.
She was my friend and I did adore her, like all the others who basked in the glow of her easy camaraderie.