Our adored dog has been so patient with us, for nine years now. It must help that we go through a lot of canned "land tuna," (aka chicken), and when each can is emptied (to prepare gallons of chicken salad, also known as "land tuna"), it gets placed lovingly on the kitchen floor.
Ms. Roosevelt carries the cans away, returning them shiny clean after a few minutes.
Today, though, there was more than the usual clanging, and when she got to the kitchen, one of the cans was stuck on the dog-door magnet key she wears around her neck. Hanging, jangling, like costume jewelry. I think I heard her sigh.
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