All The Better To Hear You With

Perhaps we can chalk it up to dyslexia, but my ideal god would be a dog.

Nothing all powerful; only a companion, innocent and ever watching, fluffy and fervent.

When I am angry, it will not answer with anger but will cower. I must quell my own anger lest I hurt it.

When I am sad, it cannot right wrongs for me. It can only provide quiet comfort until I pull myself back up.

When I am happy, it can wag, shake, and smile for me. But its happiness is eternal; it doesn't need me, just as I don't need others to make me happy.

When I am lost, it can pretend to guide me but only so far as either of our senses allow. It cannot bring me past where my own two feet take me.

When I am lonely, it is always there at my feet as a loyal, unswerving partner to my journey.

When I face hardship, it cannot help me. It can only remind me that I have a greater responsibility to make the world a kinder place not only for me, but for those less powerful than I am.

When I judge myself, it never responds because I know it will always see the best in me. It is up to me to face my darkness on my own.

When I tire and decide that life has had enough, it cannot tell me what lies ahead or whether my soul lives on. It can only accompany me into the darkness.

All the best parts of the gods I hear others praise can easily be embodied in one small, four-legged form.

All the other parts - the arrogance, the divine wrath, the trickery, the demand for supplication - well...

...we can give those to the cat.