It was the best Valentine’s Day ever.

While Mom and Dad were exchanging hearts and flowers, I was roaming my yard, communing with the birds and squirrels in the bright sunshine.  I don’t roam like I used to.  In fact, I don’t do much of anything the way I used to.  While the years have not had a negative effect on my fun-loving spirit, they have inflicted several painful shots to the physical aspect of my existence.  So, I move slowly, unsteadily, enjoying all the moments left to this seasoned ole Aussie.

Mom and Dad gave me a new toy and I showed my characteristic appreciation, but I really wasn’t up to playing with it, so I dropped it and laid down to rest.  Later, Mom picked up the new toy and beckoned me back out to the yard.  She threw the toy and I made the obligatory jog to retrieve it.  On the second throw, one of my legs refused to cooperate and I went down in a heap.  I was stunned, and so I just stayed there for a moment to get my bearings.

Then Mom was with me, cradling me in her arms.  “It’s OK, my sweet, sweet boy,” she said, and I felt a tear fall from her eye to my nose.  I nuzzled her.  In that moment, her love was more important to me than any new toy could ever be.  For awhile, I didn’t feel any pain, just a warm glow.

It was the best Valentine’s Day ever.