Every day, when I work overtime until dusk creeps into the office building, I always think of my golden retriever "Nian Gao" at home. It never knows how to tell the time, yet it can accurately hear the sound of me taking out the keys — as soon as the door is pushed open a crack, its fluffy head will squeeze in, with the scent of sunlight from the balcony where it lay during the day still on its paws. Once, I took a day off because of a fever. In a daze, I felt something warm pressing against my palm. When I opened my eyes, I saw Nian Gao resting its chin on my bedside cabinet, its tail sweeping the floor with a faint rustle, as if saying "I'm here with you". It turns out that it doesn't understand what being sick means; it just knows that I didn't go out on time today and that it needs to stay by my side to feel at ease.