Our dog sometimes lifts his head quite suddenly. As if he has noticed something. A sound. A scent. Another dog somewhere in the distance. Most of the time, he's right. My brain does something rather similar. The only difference is that it sometimes sounds the alarm even when nothing at all has happened. I'm sitting on the

Our dog is happily chewing on a dental stick. With enviable dedication. Perhaps he's hungry. Or perhaps he's simply passing the time until our next walk. Meanwhile, I'm sitting at the dining table. In front of me lies a questionnaire. “Standortbestimmung” – which means something like “Current Position Assessment,” it says at the top. I can't help smiling.

Sometimes you can feel it. That strange sensation of being watched. You're still half asleep. And yet, somehow, you know. Someone is there. I slowly open my eyes. About a postage stamp's width from my nose stands our dog. In full life-size. He is staring at me. Completely still. Almost reverently. As if he were checking

Watch this! Our dog has spotted a four-legged friend in the distance. He freezes. Then his tail begins to spin. Slowly at first. Then faster and faster. Like the rotor of a tiny helicopter. My husband smiles. He unclips the leash. A split second later, our dog is off. A black Labrador comes racing towards him

My dog loves the terrace. Especially the shady spot. From there, he watches the lake. For what feels like hours. Seagulls circle overhead, calling to one another. Joggers pass by. People stroll along the waterfront. And then, suddenly—excitement. Another dog. Mine jumps to his feet, tail wagging furiously, barking as if greeting an old friend were

A few days ago, I decided it was time to tidy up. Not half-heartedly. Properly. Cupboard by cupboard. Drawer by drawer. I've always believed that when you tidy your home, you're often tidying something inside yourself as well. You sort things out. Memories. Ballast. Perhaps even a small part of who you used to be. My dog

My dog looks at me. Then he tilts his head. I've been talking to myself for what feels like ages. About words. Grammar. Language. He doesn't understand a single thing I'm saying. Or perhaps he understands exactly what matters. My voice. My mood. The fact that I'm thinking. Then he yawns. I take that as a

A few mornings ago, I was out walking my dog, as I do every day, just after five. Lake Zurich lay almost perfectly still. The first light of dawn had caught a few wisps of cloud. A gentle breeze moved across the water. Such peace. Such silence. For a brief moment, it felt as if the world

1 July 2026. 5:00 a.m. The alarm goes off. "Good morning. You are no longer eligible for unemployment benefits. Congratulations." Or at least that's how I imagined it. I honestly expected the sky to split open dramatically on my first day of being "ausgesteuert." Dark storm clouds. Thunder. A booming voice worthy of Philip Maloney announcing my new status. Surely