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In the morning, the postman comes around seven. Maggie would give her usual warning gruff from her spot on the rug, her head raised, her ears perked. When the mail car sputtered away, Maggie would bring herself to rise slowly and pad to the window where she'd probe the glass curiously with her nose. Seeing nothing, she would return to her well-worn spot and drop like a sack of mail.
Every day, a little death
Every death, a little day
There came a time where I realized I couldn't see the curiosity in Maggie's eyes. Sure, she'd sniff around the yard excitedly, or wag her tail when we went to the park, but the way she looked at thingslike the way she slowly moved her head to watch me cookis like she looked through them. When I dropped something, she'd follow it lazily with her eyes and then lay her had comfortably on her paws, unaffected. Even when I called her over, she rose with effort, and sniffed the food briefly before gently lapping it up. She looked a