Al stood up from the kitchen table with a sigh of content. As he tucked in his chair, and brushed the crumbs from where they'd landed; caught in their plummet by his protruding midsection. As he did this he thought to himself that maybe the low sodium bacon and fake butter wasn't such a load of malarkey after all. He thanked his wife for breakfast, kissing her on the forehead in the way she adored.

            “I'll be home around 4:30 today,” he said. He walked over to the coat rack by the door and slipped on the old woolen jacket Gail had gotten him as a Christmas present so many years ago.  Grabbing the leash he whistled for Darwin who had fallen asleep on his bed by the French doors. Opening his tired eyes, Darwin stretched his plump little body and yawned deeply before strolling over to his master. Allen snapped the warn leather leash on his old friend and reached for the door.  Hearing Gail's voice he paused.

            “One last thing dearest.” she called. “What's a ten letter word meaning valiant?” He pondered this. Ever since he was a boy he'd always had a way with words, and been quick on his feet. It was a skill that had aided him well throughout his lifetime. It was certainly a must have to stay afloat in his line of work.

            “Chivalrous” He replied. His response boomed proudly through their kitchen. He had wanted nothing less for such a word.  He blushed, always grateful for an opportunity to be a help to his wife. She certainly was a rare gem, and he knew well what a lucky man he was to have her. Walking to the car he puzzled, not for the first time, how it was possible that such a vastly talented, stunningly gorgeous, and fiercely independent woman had ended up settling down with him. It was a truth that he resigned, was best explained as testament of God's grace, and good will towards man.

            “What say we surprise her with something special tonight, ay old buddy, flowers perhaps,” he mused aloud. From the passenger’s seat, Darwin licked his lips in approval, loving as all dogs do the sound of their own names spoken from the lips of the master. As if to emphasize his joy, his tail began to count off a series of rhythmic swish thump combinations. The sound, thought Allen, was something between a broken windshield wiper, and a metronome with a heart murmur. He loved it just the same for it was comforting and familiar. The way Allen saw it, as a man you might not always have many friends, likewise you may not always bask in the warmth of a woman's affection, but as long as a man had himself a dog, he'd bet they’d be alright.