I love all of my dogs, but I noticed this morning that when I think of Red, I think of him simply as “My Dog.” I have had some wonderful and complex dogs in my life – Orson, Rose, Izzy – and Lenore and I are close as I can recall being with a dog. But Red, who has been with me for two months, is simply my dog. He is always with me, watching me, waiting for me. He feels a part of me. He anticipates my moves, watches my shoes as Rose did to see if we are working, heads for the door when I am heading for the car. He can go anywhere and does. Yesterday, in the middle of much chaos – three trucks with hay and half a dozen people milling around, I looked up to see Red just sitting in the yard watching me, waiting for me. My dog.