Oh, dear. This is not the post I wanted to write. At all. But I would be pulling a major punch if I didn’t mark the death of Darcy, our beloved dog. She was fifteen and a half, so, okay, not a puppy, not spry by a long shot even when I took this picture two years ago. She hated having her picture taken, something, I think, about the camera getting in the way of your face. She liked to watch faces. . . back when she could see.
She also used to like to dance on the mail when it came spilling onto the floor through the mail chute. She liked grapes, their cool, juicy sweetness, and popcorn, their satisfying, salty crunch — (we spilled them by mistake, she ate them with delight).