Each day, at about 2:45, Scout’s ears perk up. His forehead wrinkles, if he had eyebrows they would be raised with excitement. He trots to the skinny window by the door. The one we used to have covered with a curtain until he finally managed to yank it down, bending the mini curtain rods beyond repair in the process. He finds his waiting spot by the door and assumes his most obedient position. He looks out, patiently waiting, for his best friends to arrive home. He’s forgotten about how the littlest one cornered him under the dining room table and pried the new matchbox car out of his mouth. He’s forgotten how the littlest one also smacked him on the butt and pulled his tail in frustration after he saw his car scratched and chewed and forever altered. He’s forgotten how the slightly older one ordered him out of his room earlier that morning as he was trying to find his clothes for school. He’s forgotten how the oldest one scolded him when he caught him drinking out of the toilet the day before. He’s forgiven all and forgotten all. He just wants to give his love, over and over, endlessly to his favorite little people. So he lays around all day long, until about 2:45 when he is suddenly energized. He knows that within minutes his 3 friends will come bounding through the door. He’ll greet them excitedly by jumping up and they will respond by hugging him and telling him how much they missed him while they were gone. Then he’ll start biting their backpacks as they throw them off of their backs and onto the floor. One of the boys will sternly shout, “No!” as he pries his backpack out of Scout’s mouth. As always, any hurt feelings will be instantly forgotten and only love and loyalty will remain.