My Human

Hello. I'm Pickle, and this is a book about my human, Olivia. I chose her myself, naturally. My human is excellent at opening doors, finding my favourite things, and understanding my important looks. I have trained her beautifully. Mostly. Especially when I look very serious.

Every morning, I wake Olivia. First, I stare. Then I stare from a little closer. If that doesn't work, I make the tiniest noise, shuffle nearer, or simply become impossible to ignore. At last, one eye opens. Excellent. The day's first task is complete. It is a highly skilled job.

Breakfast is a very important part of the morning. Olivia eats her breakfast, and I supervise carefully. I inspect the floor for crumbs and examine every suspicious rustle of a wrapper. Olivia says I've already had my own breakfast. Yes. But this is called quality control. Even the tiniest crumb matters.

Then come shoes, bags, and the mysterious place called School. Olivia goes there for hours. I don't know what happens inside. Perhaps humans practise being away from their pets. Perhaps they talk about us all day. I suspect both. I would give School three stars: it sounds important, but it is much too long.

While Olivia is out, I guard the house. I watch the window, listen at the door, and keep a close eye on the postman. He arrives, puts something through the door, and leaves again. Very suspicious. I have warned him many times. He keeps coming back. It is a demanding job, this protecting.

There is also the Hoover: a roaring monster that lives in a cupboard and eats fluff. When it wakes, I retreat to a safe place and watch bravely from a distance. Olivia says it's only a machine. That is exactly what the Hoover wants everyone to think. I never let it catch me by surprise.

I don't understand clocks, but I understand waiting. I wait by the window. I listen for footsteps. I check the gate. Sometimes the afternoon seems to take a hundred years. I stay ready, just in case this is the moment my favourite person comes home. My ears stay ready, too.

Then… CLICK! The gate opens. There's Olivia! My whole body feels like a celebration. I hurry over, or move as quickly as I can, to say hello in the best way I know how. Every pet has a special way of showing happiness, and this is mine. It happens every day. It is the best thing every day.

After school, we play. Olivia has wonderful ideas: games, stories, silly voices, adventures across the cushions. I have excellent ideas too. Many involve sitting nearby, making a funny face, or resting my eyes for one tiny second. Olivia says I'm a brilliant playmate. Correct. I'm especially good at cosy pauses.

Sometimes Olivia feels sad. I notice before anyone says a word. I don't ask questions or try to fix everything. I just come close and stay. Maybe I lean against her; maybe I settle beside her hand. We share a quiet moment until the world feels a little softer. Quiet company can be the very best help.

At bedtime, Olivia reads a story. I listen to every word, including the long ones, although I may blink slowly at the boring bits. Then I find the cosiest spot, which is often somewhere I'm apparently not supposed to be. Olivia sighs, smiles, and lets me stay. I take my bedtime-companion duties very seriously.

People say Olivia is lucky to have a pet like me. Naturally, they are right. I am excellent company, a first-rate listener, and very good at waking people up. But when the house goes quiet and Olivia strokes my head, I know the secret: I'm the lucky one. My human is my favourite. I wouldn't trade her for anything.