My dog most always knew when I’d be sad before I did.  Hours before, even when I would be in a burst of excessive cheeriness that would prove to be too much for even a Kindergarten teacher, she would mope about, hardly moving, staying in her bed in the corner of the cool kitchen.  Attempts to engage her were strictly declined.  Later, I realized that she did this so that I could save my energy to recuperate.

When Maggie was around, this was a regular occurrence and we were all tired but we kept going.  On one particular day, my eyes ached like they were dehydrated– like they’d been soaked in salt and clipped to line dry in the harsh Santa Ana winds.

Relief does not come by shutting my lids.  They hurt; they weigh down.  When closed, I can feel the fatigue dripping behind my eye sockets, slithering through my veins, traveling to my head.  I felt fur moving against my neck.  She’d revived and come to relieve me.


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