his hips clicking softly like a worn hinge.
I sat, and he lowered himself with a careful slowness that always makes my throat tighten. When you love an old dog, you learn to measure time in movements.
Across from us, a young couple argued in whispers.
“It’s just arthritis,” the girl said. “He’s fine.”
“He can’t even stand without help,” the guy hissed continue reading …