Very slowly, I became aware, first of sound, and then of light, and then of the concept of "morning". Eyes still shut, I turned my face toward the edge of the bed, waiting.

  Waiting for a signal that it was, in fact, morning.

  Waiting for my service dog, Nevin, to insist that it was morning, and therefore time to get up. Anticipating the approach of a relentless canine alarm clock, I opened my eyes.

  And then it came to me again: The realization that I was alone in the studio. That Nevin would not be waking me. Not this morning. Not ever again.

  I was fully awake now, and Nevin was a memory. Five months before, we had lost the battle with the intractable pain of his hip dysplasia. It was only in those twilight moments between sleep and wakefulness that I still sometimes felt the anticipation of his presence. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and filling the empty space in my heart with healing.

  Another day had come. I could see bright sunlight already spilling into the studio around my closed curtains. Obviously, I had overslept again. I looked over at the new digital alarm clock which I had stubbornly refused to set the night before. 10:00 AM.

   Resolute, I dragged myself into the shower, and let the hot water wash away the past. I had to get dressed. Aaron would be coming soon to help with the housework.

   Watching more steamy water fill the tiny kitchen sink , I started the morning ritual of dishwashing. Very soon, it seemed, my liitle dish rack was full of squeaky-clean plates and shiny glasses. But is was the trio of clean coffee mugs that now seemed to be competing for my attention.

   I filled a cobalt blue mug with coffee and sat down to admire my work. For a person with attention deficit disorder, this can be a bad mistake, but I was confident that the ring around my bathtub would eventually give me my next task cue if I got distracted.

    Aaron's knock at the door came just as I was savoring a last mouthful of coffee. Right on time, as usual, Aaron breezed into my studio. "Well," he said cheerfully, and without formalities, " What are we gonna do today?"

    Over the last year, I had come to appreciate Aaron's help. He charged by the hour, but he moved like a whirlwind, which made it possible for me to hire him for a few hours a month.

    Together, Aaron and I began to tackle the housework. We were not a bad team. Aaron was a professional caregiver who specialized in clients that required heavy lifting, and had plenty of physical strength and stamina. He enjoyed weight-lifting in his spare time.

   "I think you better come look, " he insisted. I turned around with a mixture of concern and mild annoyance. Seeing my face, he continued "There's a dog outside."

    I was baffled by his statement. I lived in town, in a residential district, in an apartment complex for seniors and disabled where pets were allowed. Escaped pets and wandering strays were common. There were probably lots of dogs outside...

    "It followed me back from the dumpster," he said. " Now it's outside. Sitting and waiting."

    I dried my hands, and went to the door. Indeed, a rather handsome, medium-sized brindle dog was "Sitting" and "Waiting", its eyes on the doorway. This one I had never seen before.  Seeing me, it looked up into my face and caught my eyes.  Without breaking the "Sit", its tail began to sweep and thump the the concrete porch. Softly, it whined, bowing its head expressively. " May I come in? "

    Almost instictively, I held open the screen door.
Without hesitation, the dog scrambled inside, licking my hands. I knealt down to greet it. "Well," I laughed, "And who might you be?"

   As if on cue, the dog responded by rolling on its back, waving shovel-sized paws, and displaying the canine equivalent of both  introduction and credentials. Looking down, I felt an immediate twinge of pity.

   " He's not a dog, Aaron." I said, slowly shaking my head, " He's a puppy."

    Scratching the soft underbelly which had been so trustingly offered, I reached out with my other hand to grasp and examine a forepaw. Much to my surprise, I was holding a neatly-kept paw, with soft pads and trimmed nails. Clearly, this dog had been well cared-for. I heard myself wonder aloud, "Where did you come from?"

     Behind me, I heard Aaron give a low whistle and  mutter, "Someplace where they grow some damn big feet..."

  My twenty-minute daily walk had now stretched, block by block and door by door, to encompass most of the afternoon.

  I had set out with my canine visitor at the other end of Nevin's old leash, hoping to walk the neighborhood and gather information so I could return him to his home. Now, as the late afternoon shadows began to lenghten on the sidewalk, I paused to catch my breath.

 My companion (who was vigorously scratching under his borrowed collar with a hind foot) was not being very helpful. I had hoped that, as he grew hungrier with the passing hours, he might start towards the place where he was accustomed to being fed. Or, perhaps, we would find someone who recognized him.

  Now, having covered a good deal of ground, and spoken to a great many people along the way, I was ready to call it a day. "It's been fun, Dog," I said, "But I really should be getting home."

  His only response was a sneeze, and a quizzical look in my direction. Beckoning to him, I changed course and headed back the way we had come.

 Trudging home, I began to think about preparing for supper.  I had completely forgotten to make a trip to the market, and the thought of going out again for groceries was not very pleasant. I tried to remember the contents of my refrigerator and pantry, and decided that I would settle for toast, eggs, and tea.

  Rounding the corner a few blocks from home, I passed a girl of about nine or ten years, riding on a kick-scooter. She stopped suddenly and doubled back to pull up beside me. Looking down intently at the dog, she asked, "Is that your dog?"

   "No," I said hopefully, " I think he's lost. Do you know whose dog he is?"

    She smiled up at me, flashing an infectious grin, a mop of black curls framing her face benath a well-used safety helmet. "No.... But he sure is pretty, isn't he?"

    Concealing my disapointment, I agreed with her, adding "Will you please tell everybody that there is a lost puppy down at the brown apartments, in number twelve?" I pointed towards my home. " I'm sure somebody is missing him."

...A large, mixed-breed male puppy with a brindle coat. No collar or tags. Found wandering near the corner of Geary and Pacific...

    I reached down to stroke his ears, and he looked up at me once more, as if for direction. His face was very expressive, his eyes a rich brown - glowing, deep, and dark even against his dark coat. His coat was clean and glossy. "She's right, you know," I said to him finally. "You are a very pretty boy." Hearing my voice, and feeling my tug on the leash, he turned to follow.

   Ambling his way distractedly down the sidewalk in every position except heeling, he became once again a stumble-footed puppy at the end of an unfamiliar leash. By the time I reached home, I was very glad to stand at the kitchen counter munching my toast and waiting for my tea to cool. I had almost considered not cooking anything. As I hastily folded scrambled eggs in the pan, I had watchful company underfoot.

  Then, very quickly it seemed, the kitchen was silent. The dog trotted over to my chair, jowls dripping cold water onto my jeans. Apparently grateful, he rested his head heavily on my knees, looked up at me adoringly, and belched like a beached walrus.

To Be Continued...