An old dog

A perfect afternoon for a nap.



Breezes and birdsong flow through my open windows. Such a beautiful spring day. It invites you to lie on the soft, springy grass and pick out fantastical cloud-shapes floating above. Inside, the wind stirs my hair, and I can hear the susurration of the breeze in the leaves. A kind of rhythmic ocean sound.

As I sit writing, this is what I see out my window.





And at my feet sleeps Siren. She turned fourteen last month. Her eyes are clouded, and her fur has returned to the cottony state of puppyhood. She is sometimes confused, but she is as loving and brave as ever.

Siren is indomitable. As a puppy, she had a severe heart murmur. She almost died on the operating table. Soon afterwards, she damaged a growth plate on her leg leaping joyfully off a table. One bone stopped growing, contorting her front leg. A specialist recommended surgically breaking that bone to straighten the leg. Another painful surgery. The leg never did straighten. Now on many days, her leg hurts too much to bear weight. You'll never hear her complain. My stoic, sleepy old girl.