Dogs

My friend A's dog is very, very sick and she loves this dog so very much and I want to ask if everything is okay but daren't in case it isn't. There is a theory that dogs are here on earth to help us muddle through, because they are the enlightened ones. Makes sense doesn't it?

Briar has suddenly unearthed a lifetime supply of leather hide gardening gloves. It appears that over the years she has methodically taken one, then another and buried them in different places throughout the garden. For some reason unbeknownst to us mere mortals, she has uncovered at least seven of these gloves and has them strewn about the house, one on each dog bed, and some outside. She chews them assiduously and them throws them up with much ceremony and ritual hacking, in the middle of the night. I know this is terribly bad for her. But I have questions. Why now? Why? and What does it Mean? The collection expands each day. The size of each glove diminishes, but the collection grows larger. (And her snout grows more earthy from the digging). I wonder if I should stop being amused by it and take it as a sign. She's terribly old now and breathes like an over-zealous yoga student, eager to please her teacher.

You know there is a place that all dogs go, which is full of green meadows and plenty of fluffy rabbits to chase. My father told me about it. I think he rather wished he'd go there, with his dogs, rather than the other place.