Every morning Rusty waited beside her chair, tail gently thumping against the floor. Every evening he rested his head on her slippered foot while she watched television. He was, in every meaningful way, her family.
The first sign of trouble came on a cold Wednesday morning when Margaret opened the kitchen cabinet and realized that Rusty’s dog food bag was almost empty. She frowned slightly, doing the same quick mental calculation she had been repeating more often lately.
Her next Social Security check wouldn’t arrive for five more days.
She glanced at the small white bottle of heart pills beside the sink.
Only three tablets remained.
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