November 9, 1999
The dog looked at me.
I’m out of here,” she seemed to say.
Turning on her tail, she glided
Purposely and quickly to the other room.
Not a backward look.
Not a sound.
Just gone.
I stood there with the nail clipper in my hand.
Should I get her or let it go?
Let it go.
They’ll be there tomorrow.
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