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My first dog, the one I learned to walk with, keeps appearing to me, always asleep, always across the room. I see her in the background, as my eyes sweep past. She is usually my old tan windbreaker but sometimes she is a purse, a pillow, a grocery bag. The german sheperd who just died has been more forceful about insisting she is dead - apparently I believe it; I do not see her anywhere. I imagine that will fade.

Lowell was gone in all ways for a long time. Now he is coming back, to my brain at least. Is it paranoia or hope for something in me to jump at every half-viewed tall skinny laugher?

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