“Ma, let’s just sit here a spell. “Let’s.”
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His joints are stiff, his eyes clouded. Her knees pop out of joint. They are mother and son and they spend most days on a faded dog bed, on a stone wall in the front of a pale yellow house. They claim the summer sun. They sit like two black gargoyles, strange sentinels, appearing to guard the house -- a blind watchdog and his feeble though feisty mom. Life has slowed for these two old dogs, but they are content. Their dog days are now.