My mother-in-law’s beagle, my buddy Chappie, is very happy to see me again.

Which is funny, because during the day he has been going to a dog hotel. This is so my mother-in-law can attend her senior gym lessons, and you might think Chappie would be reluctant to go there every single day.

You would be wrong.

According to my mother-in-law, he is actually quite eager. Almost too eager. No hesitation. No resistance. Just quiet enthusiasm. I suspect he has friends there. Or secrets. Or a second life.

But right now, as I’m typing this, he is sitting on my lap.

He doesn’t budge.

He doesn’t negotiate.

He has decided that my lap is his base of operations.

He wants to be cuddled. He wants company. And while enjoying both, he is farting shamelessly. No warning. No guilt. Just small, confident gas releases that suggest love always comes at a price.

Chappie was also a bit naughty while I was away.

While I was in the Netherlands, he apparently took my absence as a signal that all rules had been suspended. He snooped around the compost pile I normally manage, pulled out a banana peel, and ran off to eat it. Black. Rotten. Fully committed.

My wife and my mother-in-law did their best, but Chappie understands hierarchy.

When I am around, he does not go near the compost pile. Not because I shoot him with a water pistol, but because I might. I don’t even have to use it anymore. I just keep it nearby.

He sees it.

He remembers.