my handsome dog

My grandmother recited Thiruppavai every December morning, her voice threading through our home like silk. She'd pause to scratch our old dog's ears, calling him her handsome companion. Years later, I found her worn poetry book and understood—she saw divine beauty everywhere, even in weathered fur and loyal eyes. When I shared his photo, strangers called him vibrant, recommended him kindly. Their warmth reminded me that recognizing beauty in simple things connects us all. My dog became our bridge, just as my grandmother's Tamil verses once bridged heaven and earth. Some inheritances aren't written down.