The Story

I don't have a dog. I've never had one, actually. That's probably why I remember this particular weekend with Ziggy so clearly.

Ziggy belongs to my sister. At the time, he was only about six months old, and I had only met him a few times before.

I was visiting my sister in Melbourne for the weekend. The moment I walked through the door, Ziggy ran toward me like we'd known each other forever.

My sister laughed. “He does this with everyone.”

I wasn't convinced.

He followed me into the kitchen. Then into the living room. Then back into the kitchen. Everywhere I went, Ziggy was right behind me.

That evening, I sat on the floor while my sister was making dinner. Ziggy brought me a tennis ball.

I threw it.

He brought it back.

I threw it again.

He brought it back again.

After about twenty minutes, I realized I had made a terrible mistake. I'd accidentally taught him that I was his personal ball-throwing machine.

The next morning, I woke up and found Ziggy sitting outside the bedroom door.

Just waiting.

I opened the door.

His tail started wagging.

“Good morning to you too,” I said.

My sister suggested that I take him outside for a short walk while she finished getting ready. I agreed. I thought we'd be gone for maybe twenty minutes.

We ended up walking much longer.

Ziggy wanted to investigate everything. Every tree. Every fence. Every bird. Every person who walked past.

I kept trying to keep him moving, but eventually I gave up and started enjoying it. There was something strangely relaxing about watching a dog experience ordinary things as if they were completely new.

On the way back, we stopped at a small park. I sat on a bench and Ziggy sat beside me. For once, he wasn't running around. He just sat there, watching people pass.

I remember thinking how different he seemed from the crazy little dog who had been chasing a tennis ball around the living room the night before.

Then something happened that I still remember.

A little girl walked past with her parents. She pointed at Ziggy and smiled.

Ziggy immediately stood up and wagged his tail.

The girl came over and asked if she could pet him. I said yes.

She sat down beside him, and Ziggy calmly rested his head on her knee.

Her face lit up.

Her parents thanked me, and they walked away.

I looked at Ziggy.

“You really like people, don't you?”

He just looked back at me.

That afternoon, I had to leave. I packed my bag while Ziggy followed me around the house.

When I picked up my keys, he sat beside the front door.

I crouched down and scratched behind his ears.

“I'll see you next time, okay?”

He looked at me for a few seconds.

Then he picked up his tennis ball and dropped it at my feet.

I laughed.

“Seriously?”

My sister started laughing from the other room.

“He's asking you to stay.”

I wish I could say there was some huge life lesson that changed everything after that weekend.

There wasn't.

I still don't own a dog. I don't even see Ziggy very often. Sometimes months pass before I visit my sister again.

But whenever I do, something funny happens.

Ziggy still remembers me.

The moment I walk through the door, he runs over with that same ridiculous amount of excitement.

And almost every time, he brings me the same tennis ball.

I used to think you needed years with a dog to form a special bond.

Ziggy taught me otherwise.

Sometimes you only need a weekend.