I had no official business near the couch, which is why my head was held high, like an austere national security inspector. I was not a busybody. I bowed to no one. I only placed myself near the hand. And yet, the nearer each paw trotted, the lower my head sank, as the plea and sparkle in my eye softened every limb in my furry stature. I wondered what I was doing. Was this the natural reaction around the owner? I leapt onto the couch as if sitting there had been my lifelong dream. I tried not to let my tail wag. My paws clicked impatiently as I shook my head in defiance. He sat on the left. My body twisted monstrously to the right, like a pretense gone doggy. My head turned almost all the way left, and two solemn black beads gazed humbly. I only placed myself near the hand. It seemed even the room had forgotten I was waiting. The couch elongated itself, as if on a conveyor, sending me farther from the hand. What I was waiting for was merely a pat, something small enough to mean nothing, and yet heavy enough to mean everything, especially when one waits in the hallway of attention. Of course in this hall there is a hand and a floor. The hand never moved. So I was captivated by the floor, inhaling deeply the musty fragrance of life on the floor. It was halfhearted, but I had to treat it as a feast.