Why do people stare at train wrecks behave badly in cars shout unimaginative profanities out passing windows and in general behave like it's a game of musical chairs in parking lots? Would they act this way in line for coffee, or do they reach into the back seat and dust off the rumpled cloak of common courtesy for a trip into the store?

In other words, my neighbor called the police because my wheelbarrow was in the road where I have parked it for the last five years when I rake up by the street. Thanks neighbor, I appreciated all the nice shiny and colorful lights. Are you the homeowner, he asks.

Yup.

Wanna move that wheelbarrow, I mean, if someone hits it … the liability, you don't want that …

I wonder to myself if my neighbor called 911 for this. I would love to send copies of that call to my friends for Christmas. What a criminal.

Why am I telling that story? Isn't this about a dog?

I just needed to sweep the heaps of cluttered thoughts out of the way first so I could get to Lily. Everything I do think work shop drive see hear pretty much has Lily etched on it somewhere. She may be blazing or faint, but I always see her.

Since December 26 everything about my days is different, beginning with the moment my eyes open.

I am tired and have not been to work for 8 AM in almost four months. My head promptly turns to stone where I sit at my desk and is just too heavy to hold up. I am a train wreck. Why do people stare at train wrecks?

Because they feel relief. The person sprawled on the tracks with a Game Over sign flashing in the background isn't them. They are somehow absolved from disaster by proximity. They can look on from safety, since this isn't something that can touch them. Nope. Are they responsible for their good fortune? Nope nope nope. They just arrived a bit too late and will have to wait for the next train.

I hang on as Lily gets better and more animated and clumsy and eager to burst through the door for a walk.

Plotting the next hour and struggling to drag myself from bed, I stop. I open a drawer in my imagination where all the necessary things are and I stuff in the earplugs. I just don't want to hear it coming.

Lily is lots of work and I hate to leave her without a job to do. She needs a task. She is supercharged now and needs to focus on a lesson or a tennis ball, stick, other dogs. Considering the way she tilts her head sideways I am sure she was bred for brains. Nothing on earth can mime confusion the way an intelligent animal can. Her ears perk and her head twists as her posture sets -- rigid and still. I can hear her ask, What the hell did you say?

Good girl Lily.

Saturday I saw the trainer that I had called in February. I promised to call again and one day I'll be less derailed.

We're looking for cheaper enzyme treatments to feed her since $100-ish bucks a week is stiff. It's either that or pancreas straight form the pig. Think about that for a bit.

Ask me another time about Lily's little early morning dash on Tuesday. All I can say is thank you to my neighbor for recognizing that the dog in the woods behind her house was Lily.