Boxer has always been faithful to me.
He’s been there for me through my messy divorces, redundancies, and through my cancer. Boxer sits on my shoulder because he’s weak. His leg broke. People stare as I stroll down Portobello Market scanning the colourful fruits and vegetables, deciding what to cook for dinner. We’re used to it now, Boxer and I. We quite enjoy watching people point and grin, amused, in awe. We seem to make them happy. I suppose not everyone roams around with their pet perched on their shoulder. We like to surround ourselves with joy. Back in our tiny, damp flat, there’s not much of it around. We’ve made friends with street performers and people working on their stalls. It’s nice to feel a part of it. The tourists around here take photos of us and think it’s funny that I have a dog on my shoulder.
But as Boxer supported me, I am supporting him. He’s my friend, and friends carry one another when they’re weak. I’ll always be faithful to Boxer.