idgee

I have been looking at my little dog's ears a few days now.  The ears have to say pink to be healthy.  They cannot be quiet as a white.  These days, the little dog has been on the floor, a furry mop.  More quiet than his usual.  He has always been the self-effacing one; nearly lost at a few days old, and nearly broke a leg in few months time.  Now grown, but considerably smaller than the others.  Shy, too.  Always in the background when any one is around, at my feet in quiet affection when I work or read alone through a long dark night.  Only last night did I really really notice.  He did not greet me on arrival.  Nor got up to greet this morning.  I carried him outside for our morning ritual of fresh air and sunlight.  And he gave in to the prodding, if only to stand with the breeze on his face, maybe to not disappoint.  His eyes were quiet.  The med kit says it lacks the more important pill.  I give him what at the moment can be had.  My sister calls to ask about a sofa and my having breakfast.  I say sofa next week, breakfast none, that I worry of the dog.  She says the breakfast is for me, not the little dog.  My sister with her newborn girl named Sky.  I remember a formula for when they were still puppies.  I am getting up to make one now.