Friday, July 7, 2017

Silky is just that. She shines, black as a crow but for her long tan socks, muzzle and smudged on brows. 

Four months, Dr. Miller says she is, twenty-three pounds. 

She stands tall and still on the high metal table as he listens to her heart beat.

"Good girl, Silky," I tell her, "Good girl."

Silky wags only the very tip of her tail. She beams though, with pride at my praise, her eyes sparkle at the sound of her new name

"She'll make somebody a fine dog," Dr. Miller says, having finished his examination. "Somebody." And he shoots me a wink, because we both have a good idea of who that somebody is going to be.  


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