Today we let Zappa in the kitchen while we ate dinner.
We left the door open at first, and he just stood there at the threshold with this look of disbelief and surprise.
Mark gave him a piece of pizza crust and Zappa walked right in.
He walked around and sniffed everything while walking back and forth to our sides for a bite, which we obliged.
Then when we were about done he went back out to the living room and laid near the door.
The door of separation. The door that kept peace and war alive in our home.
I felt a sense of relief letting Zappa through that door. Instead of always shutting the door on him and the guilt that came with it.
It's been since he was young that he has been in the kitchen. Like before Blaze came home at 7 months.
After 13 years with two packs of dogs, it was a long time coming.
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