When Malcolm carried Eddie home in the front of his jacket I was upset because I?m afraid of dogs. When I was two years old a pony-sized Doberman knocked me over. I tried after that to like dogs. Our neighbors had a collie and I made myself touch her. I would kneel and put my arms around her neck like Timmy with Lassie. I thought having a dog was full of moments like this, but not being afraid didn?t last. With every new dog I start over.

Now, Eddie?s 107 lbs. We live in a busy neighborhood and I?m afraid to walk him by myself in the park across the street because dogs attract dogs. My fears are stubborn as kudzu.

I think I saved his life once. I was in the den and I could see him out the window, shaking his head hard. There was rope hanging from his mouth. I thought he was goofing around because Labradors are non-stop chew. Still, I went to check. He was choking. I opened his mouth with two hands and pulled on the wet rope and three feet of it came out of him.

A few days later Eddie was sleeping on my pansies and I was tiptoeing to the mailbox so I wouldn?t wake him, but I did because all dogs in the world hear me coming. He got up and yawned and walked beside me, stayed with me step for step. When I got to the mailbox he stopped and leaned his warm body against my leg, the way people settle into each other sometimes and forget they?re touching. He rested like that against me. All I wanted from the world right then was for Eddie not to move and for Malcolm to not stop loving me.