Laughing unexpectedly is like finding a gift jammed in the toe of last year's Christmas stocking. There it is, a little lump at the end that had gone unnoticed. What is it?
Lily can cause a pretty good laugh if you send her out in the rain and run around and drench her, yourself, your running pants, then try to dry her off with a towel and she squirms and you’re not sure which end you’re at. It’s still nothing like Christmas Eve here though; we still don’t know what’s wrong. Her sloping snout and imploring almond eyes are wedged in my mind at once like a rock in my shoe and a pearl; right here her image sits in the rocking chair, rhythmic, creaking, irritating and a comfort. I know where she is but I worry.

A new thought: maybe maybe maybe it’s behavioral and her nerves are on fire for some reason and she has overactive ass syndrome.
With the snow melted I see all the spots where Lily “went” and it looks like a paintball fight.
Grabbing the phone I dial and Jerry answers and I ask, are you home yet I want to know that the dogs are OK.
I’m a few minutes away.
CALL ME when you get there. Please?