JANUARY 2, 2010: Twenty degrees. A two-mile jog. Lily doesn’t even pant. Good girl, good girl. The heap of rice and meat mixture is dwindling. Six pounds of chop meat and more than eight cups of instant rice and I think it’s at last beginning to stick to her insides. At night with a glass of wine and a book, I read. I watch Lily as she looks up at me. Is she happy? Will my dogs ever just play with her? Play and accept her? I have a lot of work to do. One thing at a time.
JANUARY 3, 2010: Should we get another doggy bed? We get a doggy bed with reservations. I drop it on the basement floor and Hershey grabs a corner, digs her teeth into the soft fabric and shakes shakes shakes. I rescue it before the tearing starts. Food, pills, chasing Lily with the ear ointment, leashes, we needed more paper towels.
Is she housebroken? Pacing and pacing, but we think she is just looking for “her spot” but she has no spot because this isn’t really her house yet. This will take time.
Need to go out Lily, Jerry asks. She did. Maybe she had been asking us to let her out all along.
Leftover turkey on the counter left unattended ended in a big argument over scraps on the floor. Snarling and growling. I hear it and run to the kitchen where everyone is scrambling for a piece. Out in the pen Lily fetches a toy I bought, but I am the only one who will play with her. It’s been a week and one day. We need patience and a good training book. Good girl Lily.

JANUARY 4: Around 7:30 the sun rises over the ridge of mountains and finally reflects a bright orange off the windows. I step cautiously through the house and out to work. Paws clack against the door as someone jumps up to watch me leave. I can’t look back.