I didn't know her very well, but I was the one who was home when it started to happen, and I sat with her under the camellia bush in the front yard. When my father got home I was brushing her; I couldn't tell if she could feel it, until she gave me one tail thump. My father in his suit sat down in the dirt and started taking the little pink fallen petals out of her fur, then changed his mind, left them there.

She licked his hand once; I think no old dog has ever passed up that final heartstring. We said, Miss Lady, you can go now. It's ok to go to sleep. You need to rest.   And she did.   My stoic father buried his face in her shaggy coat and said, I was her papa.   It was the first warm day of the year, as if someone kind had planned it.