I said no. You just didn’t hear it.

I haven’t got words, you see, so I have to use everything else. When your arms come round me and I’d rather they didn’t, I lick my lips. I turn my head away — only a little, so you might not even notice. I go still. I show you a bit of white in my eye. I yawn, and I’m not the least bit tired.

That’s my whole vocabulary for “not just now, thank you.” Quiet. Polite. Terribly easy to miss.

And here’s the sad part. When the quiet no gets stepped over often enough, some dogs give up saying it. They skip straight to the loud one. And then everybody says the growl came out of nowhere.

It never comes out of nowhere. It was said five times, softly, first.

So the next time we’re having a cuddle, would you try something for me? Put your arms round me for three seconds — then take them away. If I lean back in, I meant yes, and you shall have all the cuddles you like. If I slide off, I meant no. And you heard me.

Being heard is the loveliest feeling there is.

Love, Maggie 🐾

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