As much fun as they bring their humans, dogs themselves endure a lot of boredom. And as much as your dog clearly loves you, don’t kid yourself: she would, indeed, love you ten times more if you would never stop throwing that ball until one of you is dead, and both of you know which one that would be. Still, we feel no qualms about raising their hopes with our tail-revving voices and euphoria inducing ear scratchings and mystifying pockets that might, oh please oh please, just might be filled with liver and peanut butter.
This time, though, I feel as fraudulent as the Wizard of Oz, my black bag full of tricks too shamefully superficial to help the really Brave and Meek one get back her very Self. This time, Glinda ain’t coming. Nothing will be the same again for Katey, stuck here in Kansas with all of us who have lost something we can never get back, and can make nothing from that loss except accommodation.
She is more beautiful than ever, I think.