My mom likes to pretend that she doesn't like our dog. She says he smells and that he's annoying, and sometimes she'll call him an "ugly twerp."

But every night, after my father ties him up in the kitchen and goes to bed, she goes downstairs, unties him, and moves his bed to the bottom of the stairs.

(He likes to sleep there because it's as close as he can get to our bedrooms. We just moved into a new house, and he gets scared and lonely at night, but can't make it up the stairs because his legs are too short and stubby. My father doesn't like him to be untied during the night though, because he thinks he'll wander around the house and make messes. He doesn't.)

Every morning, she gets up very early, before anyone else is awake, moves his bed back into the kitchen, ties him up, then goes back to sleep until my father gets up for work. 

She says she doesn't love the dog, but if she didn't, why would she go through all the trouble of doing that every night? If she didn't love him, why wouldn't she just let him sleep in the kitchen?

She loves him without having to flaunt it. The best kind of love. He knows that she cares for him. And she knows that she loves him, even if she pretends not to.

Deep down inside, at the end of the day, no matter how many bad things may happen, no matter the fights, or cruel words, or rough patches, there's always love.

At the end of the day, and at the beginning, love is all the world knows. What happens in between, is forgotten. Love is the one thing that stays constant.