I’ve given her as much TLC as I can while making sure she gets tons of rest and sleep. Fletcher’s been going out with me and Sherlock, my basset hound, for brief walks, bundled in a warm coat. The vaporizer and antibiotics have made his coughing fits manageable, and he’s starting to act like his old self again. There’s no more snowfall, but it’s absolutely freezing. All our windows have icicles and starry frost formations. There’s a foot of hardpack, and if Podge’s surgery wasn’t scheduled for this afternoon I’d be racing down Pine Needle Hill on my sled with all the other kids in the neighborhood. All, that is, except David, who offered to shovel the walk up to the clinic. He really is a pretty good guy. I open the clinic door to see how he’s doing. A blast of cold freezes the lining of my nose. David is shoveling his way up the clinic stairs. “Can I help?” I offer. “Your timing is perfect. I’m almost done.” He pulls his gloves off and blows on his red fingers.
