The Crayons and the Bone
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Magic of Dogs
By sarah elizabeth

Animals are such agreeable friends. They ask no questions; they pass no criticisms.
~George Eliot

I watched her play on her pallet of precisely folded Minnie Mouse blankets on the dark blue floor. There was so much innocence within the boundaries of those pink blankets and the clear-cut lines they provided for Savannah during floor time. Those clear pink lines defined Savannah's space from the blue expanse around her. Savannah's space was where she organized her toys, processed information and discovered the world around her. Even though she was almost eighteen, floor time was just as important to her development as it had been when she was two.

Finn knew there was something special about Savannah. Instinctively, he knew the first time he met her, as he watched her hesitant gait carry her to him. He knew from the way she pressed her arms against the sides of her head, hiding most of her face and stifling unfamiliar sounds. He knew by the heavy weight of her fingers pushing on him when she tried to pet him, despite my constant reminders of "gentle touches" and hand-over-hand demonstrations. (Keep reading)