Into the woods I stepped with expectation and a hope of discovery. Lily brushed past my thigh with her tail whipping like a ribbon…

At the specialist's today we stood in an empty waiting room where only the two of us cast reflections on polished floors big enough for basketball. I turned toward the front desk where two receptionists and a couple of women in scrubs were walking toward the exit. Everyone had stopped to stare at Lily -- a little tableau of strangers smiling and waiting.

Her name is Lily I say, sending my voice bouncing across shiny floors.

They move erupt laugh squat down and reach out their hands. Hello pretty girl! The room tips and everyone slips toward Lily.

At the gas station later Lily sits looking looking and checking all the windows. I hear, how old is your puppy? The attendant is coming outside to see her. A year and a half…everybody loves her. No one is put off by her long dark snout and flash of jagged white inside as she yawns. A tall and quiet dog with pointy ears, Lily somehow has the allure, comfort, and gravity of a stuffed bunny.

Another exam and blood test and questions. How long has she been like this, not to be gross, but what color is her stool what consistency and does it smell? I'll be right back just wait here this will take only a minute and at last, the door closes I stand there. Little nags stuff cotton into my ears as suddenly a void settles on the room where Lily the doctor and his intern had stood. They somehow dragged the sounds of everyday life out the door. Minutes later he is back and saying he thinks it could be a pancreatic insufficiency. I tell him we had thought so. If she doesn't have it, then she has every symptom.

Sprinkle this enzyme in her bowl and stir in water and after 20 minutes you can feed her.

I will.

Lily is now 43 pounds. I suspect her body is drawing its energy from her organs and muscle. The food just is not enough. Now I worry. How much longer has she got?

At home I feed her and minutes later she lifts her tail and splashes the basement floor.

In the woods with the town historian and the dogs we creep through the debris of an old foundation encrusted with lichen and look for hints. He asks about Lily and I say I am worried now about how diminished she has become, and I worry about a strain on her heart and organs. Should she be out here running around? Maybe not, but if her sickness is going to take her with it when it gets down to the vacation's last pair of socks and finally decides to leave, then I will have to say goodbye to Lily. If time runs out on her I would rather see it happen out here in the woods and sun and fresh air, not in my basement where she may or may not be resting her head beside her latest pile of diarrhea.

Hours later she is doing OK. This really needs to work. I feed her again and wait. She moves toward the front door and curls up on a doggy bed and digests.

I left the forest hours earlier with questions, a tick crawling on a pant leg, and a brier embedded in my palm. Now at 11:30 pm I peek at Lily plopped down on her dog bed and I wonder if this will work.