The other night, Keira and I were sitting on the floor playing a board game. Riley ambled up to us and leaned against me.
Putting his hand around the nape of my neck, he massaged it lightly as he watched the game unfold on the floor. He nuzzled closer, bringing his arm tighter in around my shoulders now for a proper embrace. I hugged him back, enjoying this brief moment of quietness.
Then his grip became more insistent; urgent. I could feel the tremulous effort he was either trying to make or was trying to contain. I looked over at his face, suddenly rosy and in a faraway place. The grunting soon followed. All the while I remained his prop, his leverage.
A smell wafted through the room. He released his grip, and walked away.
“I’ve just been used as a pooping prop,” I said to my husband.
