Lilly

Lilly comes to me in the quiet of the morning when I'm sitting in the big chair drinking coffee so thick and dark it could pass for shoe polish. She lowers her head and pushes it between my knees, inviting my hands to knead her head and shoulders. A foster dog with adult cataracts, Lilly's blindness causes her to be more needy of physical attention than the other dogs. Stretching out my fingers on both hands, I start at the top of her head, working my fingertips down to her skin to feel for ticks. I massage her ears and look inside just in case. Continuing down Lilly’s back, I give her a good scratching just above her tail where she can't scratch herself. That's a little slice of dog heaven for her. Then she's ready to run along side of our own dog, Kira, as Kira does her “go get the paper from the front of the driveway” trick and bring it inside, dropping it on the kitchen floor for me while I get a little treat for her. Actually all four dogs benefit from Kira's routine, as they line up at the word “treat”. All sit and stare intently at me except for Lilly of course, she stares at the cabinet to my right.