A THOUSAND WORDS

STORY & PAINTING BY ROBERT BECK

The last dog essay (probably)

THE SUN IS JUSTcoming up on this Fall Sunday morning, giving definition to the trees beyond the porch. The world outside is motionless and quiet. Inside, the coffee pot is grumbling. Jack is next to my chair in the dark room, breathing in labored spurts. Up until not that long ago he was aging in parallel with the rest of us—hard to get up on his arthritic legs, not as much energy—but things have taken a grave turn lately, and

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