After placing her food bowl on the floor I took a picture of Lily. Standing above her I shot the camera down and her eyes asked me a strange thing. Why did you sprinkle clay over my food?

Hershey drops her stick and storms toward a glistening, perfectly round surface in the forest floor where stones form a ring. She leaps and for a second the rustle of leaves under her feet is gone. From within her own quiet she throws out her paws and lands in the water pooled in a hand-dug well that is now a puddle amid forest growth. Forgotten. In the few feet of water she paddles and Lily stands near the edge. She drinks. I hear a pug behind me. I look up a rocky rise to hunt for tan flashes of movement. Where is Bandit?

We’re home. The dogs find different places to hang their tired limbs and rest. Lily is flattened on the floor, as if she sunk in.

Last night the couch held a collection of dogs head to ass to head to ass.