Free Dancing Dogs by Jon Katz

interested too. And he knew people would love to watch a three-legged herding dog. James had always said no, he was too busy, he didn’t have time. But now, maybe he did.
    He was not into mystical mumbo-jumbo, but he couldn’t get the coyote out of his head, or shake the feeling that the coyote had come for him, not his sheep. He kept seeing his eyes, the way he ended his life. It had shaken him, opened him up.
    He looked back over at Helen, a bit guilty maybe, thinking about a companion, but he knew what she would say because she had said it to him a few days before she died: “James, don’t die a grumpy old farmer. Be happy. You’ve suffered enough. Have some dreams. Take care of Kipper.” He felt his eyes well up. He got out his handkerchief to wipe them dry.
    He looked back over to the photo. “I’m sorry, Helen. I wish I’d been a better husband, a better father. Sometimes, it feels like the farm just ate me up. Like life ate me up. But I still have some time.” The dog whined, and came over to him. Kipper looked confused, perhaps anxious, caught up in the tone of James’s voice.
    “See what happens when you lie around, Kip?” he asked the dog, who looked at him curiously, tilting his head.
    Then, James leafed through the phone book and made a call.
    “Harriett?” he said. “You remember me? James Page.Got the farm down on McLeary Lane? You spoke to my wife, Helen, a few years back about listing our place.”
    She was so sorry to hear about Helen. She had meant to stop by. What could she do for him?
    “Well, I’m thinking it’s time to sell the farm,” he said.

Luther and Minnie in Heaven
    M INNIE LISTENED TO THE HEART MONITOR BEEPING NEXT TO HER bed. She knew it was slowing. Her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren had already been to her room to say good-bye. So had her rabbi, the hospice social worker, and her cousin Fanny Lozow. Her small room, in an airy wing of a well-run nursing home, was bright and stuffed with flowers and note cards. The young doctor who came in every day, uttering his usual distracted platitudes about being comfortable and then leaving after a few minutes, stayed longer this morning. For the first time, he squeezed her hand.
    She was ready to move on. She’d had eighty-three good years, no complaints. She looked forward to joining her husband, Jacob, in heaven, although she hoped he wouldn’t expect to be taken care of there as much as she had cared for him in this life. Minnie was done taking care of people.
    But she had this other, secret wish that she had not shared with anyone. She feared her two daughters mightthink she was a little crazy. She wanted to see Luther, her dog.
    Luther was a mutt given to her by a Catholic priest whose parish had been closing. His visit to her that day many years ago was so strange that she still went over it often in her mind.
    She had never spoken to a priest before and was startled when he knocked on her door that summer day. He was tall, very thin, and was wearing his clerical collar, but also a leather jacket and a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. His red hair stuck out from under the hat and set off his bright blue eyes.
    He was standing there along with a small brown and white dog on a leash. The dog was squat and ugly. The priest introduced himself as Father Matthews. “I’m here to ask you if you might consider taking my dog,” he said.
    The parish, which had seen dwindling attendance in recent years, was closing. Father Matthews said he was moving to an urban parish in New York City, and Luther couldn’t go with him.
    Minnie thought it was a joke, or a mistake, and just stared slack-jawed at the priest and this strange-looking little dog, who looked right back at her and wagged his tail hopefully.
    “You’re not serious, are you?” she said. “We’re not really dog people.”
    Father Matthews smiled, as if he knew that.
    “You have the kindest face,” the priest said, “and I prayed that you would take Luther