We look down at the girl who
produced so many beautiful

babies over six years before
they threw her out in favor of

another beautiful baby girl
who would make lots and lots

of money for them. She is
gorgeous. Eight-years-old

and not a gray hair on her
muzzle. We say almost with

tears in our eyes, “You are
the most beautiful girl in the

world.” We don’t know if
she understands and then

we say over and over and
over, “We love you, sweet

girl. We love you, love you,
love you, sweet, baby girl.”

She looks at us and wags her
tail. We don’t know if it is

the words or the inflection
and it doesn’t matter. She

gets the message and that’s
all that matters.