CHAPTER 28
The following days pass in very much the same way. Sometime around lunch I ask to be wheeled out to the courtyard, and I spend the next several hours with my dog. I have to brace myself because Rusty licks my face so enthusiastically I can hardly breath. His breath is gross, but I’m so happy to have a friend I don’t care.
Through sign language, I’m able to ask one of the nurses for a comb. It’s a terrible tool to use to groom a matted, mangy dog, but I do what I can and hope that Rusty understands I’m not actively trying to torture him. It takes longer than I expect — a total of about six hours spread out over three afternoons — until his coat is tangle-free and shining. I even manage to make a ball for him out of some old cloth bandages my nurse was about to throw out. What I
