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.