A New Year

"Kiva probably won't be here next Christmas," A said seriously. "Mom told me."

At fifteen, Kiva is an old dog, a survivor and a loved family member.

I see her and remember the puppy who bounced and bounced like a ball from spot to spot in my niece's first Brevard house. I see her and remember the mountain house where my niece and her husband lived and where her son was christened and where her mother, my sister-in-law, died. I see her and think of my old cat Lucy, who didn't make it to Christmas this year.

And when C spontaneously cuddles with Kiva on her pillow, it's hard to take the picture.