Eyes are cunning, muzzle - crafty, climbs on his knees and, hugging, so he asks with a hint: -Pa-ah-a-AP, do you love me? And how to answer it? Of course, I love, the sun, but how else. And then the worst thing happens. The child, having thought about a split second, begins to find out - why is dad (or mother) he loves him. And then God forbid to say that you love, because "well, you are my son/daughter." Sometimes it rolls, I do not argue.