Your dog is not a rock.

Sentience, that is, feeling and the awareness of feeling, distinguishes us from stones. Sadness, fear, loneliness, rage, jealousy, inadequate, deficient, happy, joy, peace, contentment – clearly my dog is sentient.

Opening the patio sliding door on an icy-cold-snowy morning at first light Calliope (her name) heads into the outdoor world wagging excitedly. I return to my writing desk with the day's first cup-o-joe. Sidetracked, I don't attend to her attention to her “business,” nor when she barks standing patiently at the closed door. Half an hour later, returning to the coffee pot, I see her. She's lying on the cold patio floor looking into my warm room with what I can describe only as “sad” eyes. Seeing me reach for the door, she jumps up, tail wagging her whole body and squeezes into the room before I can get the door completely open to stand next to me as I pour another cup, and follows me patiently as I return to my desk. She sits and then lays down next to me. I scruff her head. In less than five minutes she is asleep. Occasionally she snores.

Plants respond to our emotions. Mushrooms heal our brains. Trees absorb CO2 and return O2 to our lungs. My cat (Dakini) slinks into the room, curls next to Calliope and sleeps. Sunlight melts the snow.