Precious, like awesome, is not a word I use often. However, there is an aspect of Simon’s behavior that I find precious, not in the pejorative sense of overrefined or affected, but in the sense of exquisite, extremely valuable, highly desirable, priceless.
When Simon, for example, knows for certain that all five of us, including Mary and the other two dogs, are really going for a walk this time, he hangs back at the top of the stairs to the garage and car to make sure that I am coming too. (I am always the last one ready, it seems.)
When we come back from the walk and are all in the garage, he does not dash into the house until he is again certain that I am coming as well. (It takes me a while to get out of the car.)
When we are all outside in Mary's magnificent garden behind the house, and everyone except Dexter is climbing up the steep stairs to the deck in the silver maple tree, Simon, who clearly enjoys being way up off the ground there, but who cannot do the steep stairs on his own and must be carried up, again waits to see if I am coming. Torn by obviously conflicting desires, Simon, if I am outside, waits for me. Those brief moments when I see him look for me are precious, priceless; I would not trade them for silver or gold, or a crate of dachshund puppies.