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Do you think that dogs understand how we feel? That they can sense it even when we don’t show it?

2:25pm everyday on the dot the mailman arrives. And at 2:25pm everyday Scarlett, my best-friend, barks and howls and spins at the front door. I let her out to rush the mailman who expects her every time. I step out, halfway between the door, and leave a warm smile for my expected guest. In exchange he hands me letters while tripping over Scarlett and left damp from her licks. She chases him off until he reaches the gate that he carefully closes behind him. She watches him leave as I flip through the stash. She circles back to hop on the couch in preparation for our daily nap. She licks my face as I lay down and jumps on my chest to claim her spot as if she still weighed like a pup. I let her though. Sometimes she growls or twitches in her sleep — I wonder what she’s dreaming about. At 3pm I do the thing I hate the most: I move her off me to get back to work. And at 2:25pm the next day I repeat it all again. It’s been months and I still wait for your reply in the mail. I told you not to write back yet I yearn for it everyday. It keeps me going. I don’t even know where you are anymore I couldn’t write you even if I wanted to. So I stay here anyways. I wonder if Scarlett barks to remind me that there’s a chance. If she chases the mailman knowing I didn’t get what I want. If she rests with me in the hope that I wake up and get over it. If she dreams that, yet again, I haven’t. All I know is that at 2:25pm tomorrow I will be there waiting.