Twill skirt

S., the beloved dog, is 10. A Weimaraner with a club foot, his annual budget is as high as mine. At the vet, he is "private-pay," never humiliated. In his house, he is loved, never neglected. He and my sister live in a love-bond. A love-bond could be made with just about any living animal. Our Wally, a younger cat from the humane society, is our love-bond. My mother and I share him. As a middle child, I am very intrigued by sharing. Who loves what is human, what is female? We would not all have to live as neglected. Religion is not-law. Last summer, the lawyer called my knee-length, beige brushed twill skirt "licentious," as if he were on duty, scouting arguments, seeing resources, at Caribou. I looked too hour-glass in it, I thought sadly, knocking on wood against ceilings and jailings. I rarely watch TV. All our negotiating for our own lives went in defiance not of law but of property.