A Machine for Loving

Two weeks after my arrival fox died just after sunset.
I was stretched out on the bed when he approached and tried painfully to jump up.
He wagged his tail nervously.
Since the beginning, he hadn't touched his bowl once.
I helped him to settle on my lap
After a few seconds he looked at me with a curious mixture of exhaustion and apology.
Then, calmed, he closed his eyes. Two minutes later, he gave out his last breath.
I buried him inside the residence at the western extremity of the land, next to the protected fence, surrounded by his predecessors.
During the night, a rapid transport from the central city dropped off an identical dog.
They knew the codes and how to work the barrier.
I didn't have to get up to greet them.
A small white and ginger mongrel came towards me, wagging its tail.
I gestured to him. He jumped on the bed and stretched out beside me.
Love is simple to define, but it seldom happens in the series of beings.
Through these dogs we pay homage to love, and to its possibility.
What is a dog, but a machine to loving?
You introduce him to a human being, giving him the mission to love.
And no matter how ugly, deformed, perverse, or stupid this human might be, the dog loves him.