Apple was a honey-colored Labrador with a very important responsibility:
making sure no one ever felt left out.
The sofa, for example.
Apple always got there first. And if someone tried to sit down afterward, she would politely stretch out her legs, taking up all the available space. She often slept on her back, snoring happily, as if she were telling jokes in her sleep. Laughing all by herself.
During the day, Apple had plenty to do.
She dug holes in the ground just to see what was underneath. Sometimes she pulled out plants, but only the ones she believed didn’t belong there. As a puppy, she had hidden a tennis ball, some work tools, and a few pieces of clothing in the garden. No one ever found them again, but Apple knew exactly where they were. She kept them safe, just in case they might be needed one day.
Eating was a very serious matter.
Apple would eat anything. Always. If something fell on the floor, it disappeared in an instant, as if sucked up by an invisible cyclonic vacuum cleaner. And when she was allowed to lick the bottom of a yogurt jar, she would emerge with her muzzle and whiskers covered in white, proud as if she had just completed a secret mission.
Apple was jealous, yes.
Especially of her toys. So jealous that sometimes she slept on them, just to prevent imaginary nighttime thefts. She was also very protective of her human, whom she followed everywhere. They worked together, played together, swam, walked, and shared everything. Apple wanted to be part of it all. She never wanted to miss a thing.
She was a bit vain too, there’s no denying it.
She liked to admire herself, walked with a little sway, and knew perfectly well how charming she was. When she did something right, she gave a proud high five. And when her human worked out, Apple copied her, with clumsy but very serious movements, as if to say, “I’m doing my best too.”
On walks, Apple always chose the route.
She was a creature of habit and very stubborn. And whenever they passed a special café, where the owner handed out dog biscuits, Apple would suddenly stop, planting her paws firmly on the ground. It wasn’t a whim. It was a tradition. And traditions must be respected.
But Apple’s true talent wasn’t obvious at first.
Apple had the art of being there.
When her human was happy, Apple knew.
When she was tired, Apple moved closer, quietly.
When there was silence, Apple protected it, staying still.
She didn’t do big things.
She did the right ones.
And even today, when Apple lies on her back, snoring happily and stretching out across the sofa, she seems to tell the whole world:
“Don’t worry. I’m here. Everything is fine.”