I'll admit, at the time, it was hard to imagine a world that was more complete or more wonderful than the one I was living in. There was some great profundity in the way we would wake up every morning, and I would tell her how I admired the sunlight streaming down from under the window touched the bare fur on her back. We were both getting a little older, but she somehow retained a fine red coat, and it really did look lovely under the morning sun. It was always summer or winter in our city, because there weren't really any trees to tell us it was spring or autumn. We would spend days dozing in the heat, or sheltering each other on long walks through mazes of concrete and iron, where wind whipped us close and eagerly together, clutching our paws and admiring how snugly they fit when we laced our fingers. I would watch her breath hang in the air, and she would remark about how my eyes looked just like the sky on a cloudless winter day- flawlessly blue. At night, she would make me dinner, and it was always warm. Sometimes I would come home from work, and I could smell the chicken casserole throughout the apartment, and it would bring back memories about my mother, who fixed the same exact thing every night of my childhood. But Lilly did it better- and in appreciation, I would rub the pads of her feet, and massage her ankles until she was warm and content, and ready for bed. People seem to think that perfect love is beauty, or the perfect figure, or some sexual prowess- I'm not ashamed to say that Lilly possessed nearly every one of these, though they were not themselves important to me. She had these wide, laughing blue eyes that always seemed to be on the brink of teasing. She had these soft black lips, and I always knew when she was about to smile, because the left corner would turn just a little bit before a curt grin settled into her muzzle. And when she and I would kiss, her head would tilt ever so slightly to the left, and mine to the right, every time, and her paws would settle neatly into the small of my back. Each morning, at six, she would make me breakfast, and a sack lunch with a ham sandwich and mustard, with my favorite brand of yogurt thrown in whenever she could find it at the grocery store. It wasn't like she needed to- there was a sandwich shop down the street, and it made a decent cup of coffee when the beans were fresh. On days when I could, I would cook her eggs and bacon in the morning, or fix up a batch of french toast and syrup. No one would eat my cooking but Lilly, I know this for a fact. There was one time in winter, when she started to have some back pains, some shortness of breath, some weakness in her arms. It was just a bad day for her, I assumed, and happily attended to her, brushing back the fur between her ears, sitting with her on my lap as we watched TV. I could feel her heart beating through her back. Irregular, I remember thinking. Strange. She was like that for a day, and then two days, and I began to fear for her. I walked among the streets alone. It was surprising how cold I found them now, so I hurried back to the warmth of my den. Idle paws were becoming my undoing. I felt sickened. Afraid. I doted on her, bought her every medicine available, and when I couldn't stand her own anguish any longer, I took her by the paw and cheerlessly led her down the stairs from our apartment, and out toward the hospital. I'll never forget that walk. I know Lilly won't. My paws were wrapped possessively around her waist, hugging the coat to her body. It paled my face to see her shivering out here, offered freely to winter's teeth, or some other overly poetic metaphor for how damn cold it was. It shocked me, offended me. I pleaded with her to hold on tight to my paw, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. She could only wearily bob her head at my words. Whether they went unheard or not, I'll never know. I licked her nose to keep it warm, and every time I drew my tongue away, she shook. Blocks away from the hospital, we were called out of the winter wind. I caught her gesture out of the corner of my eye, a voice choking out "mister" over and over again. I led my wife away where we could get out of the winding streets, setting her whimpering against the wall. I told her to breathe deeply, and just to rest for a while. She needed it, I knew, and I wouldn't dare keep it from her. I turned to the alleyway, lit by the grey clouded sky above. Snow was falling. "Mister." Someone said. A deer- a doe, with big brown eyes. "Please, hey- if you have any money..." There was a nervous twitch in my gut, and I looked at Lilly, who was shivering. I looked back at the doe, who clutched herself. "I have a little." I said. "It's not for me," she said. "It's for my son. He's in the hospital, he's sick and..." she was, holding her arm out to me. I could see the bones in her wrist moving as she shook a cup. Someone had put in pennies. "His kidneys failed. I can't even give up one of my own because of the cost." They wouldn't cover him? Believe me when I say I felt for her- but it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I was a man- I had a job, a life. I was responsible for the ones I loved, and for myself. If I gave her money, would she spend it on drugs? Would she spend it on cigarettes, or liquor? Her eyes were so round, so wide, and she looked so thin. Her fingers were twitching. She couldn't hold them still in the cold. Pity filled up my heart for just a second. "Look." I said, and I took my wallet out of my pocket. She stretched a hopeful look across her face. I stared, trying to decide if it had been practiced or if it was just a normal look. "Spend a little on yourself, get something to eat. Then keep the rest for your son." I pressed a wadded up bill into her hand. One hundred dollars. I clenched her hands closed around it, and held it there, returning to my wife, licking her nose. We were out of the alley before the doe pried her hand open, and looked at my charity. I coaxed my wife along still, urging her to hurry. We weren't far away, and I could hear the sirens of triumphant returning ambulances, rushing the sick and wounded along. The sound of sirens warmed my fur like faraway fire. Before I knew it, we were struggling down the last street, and she could see lights in tall windows, where the weak and the wounded healed in the comfortable white noise of the city. The lobby was adorned with plastic leaves, and was almost unbearably warm. As I explained my wife's problems to the front desk, my eyes were drawn toward a large glass case filled with swallows, sparrows, and orioles... birds, chirping and fluttering against the glass, clutching a wire screen and pecking the seeds out of a container. It's embarrassing to admit, but I lost my concentration a few times, and an orderly came to assist Lilly while I scribbled out my signature again and again on various forms and files. By the time I'd turned around, finished with my busywork, she was already in an elevator. We got her settled in- they had room, and it wasn't too busy. The nurse, a young, brown coyote with a pretty muzzle, informed me that the winter rush hadn't quite started yet, and that Lilly would find the wing peaceful. My wife managed a toothy smile, but sank into her pillow anyway the moment the nurse had turned her tail. I knelt by her side. "Are you comfortable?" I whispered, pecking the back of her paw, where the black fur turned ruddy. She took a while to answer, her eyes locked with a ceiling tile. Eventually, her head rolled towards me, looking down and into my eyes. Confusion. "Honey..." she said. Her voice was unsteady. On the verge of tears. "Don't leave me." "I won't." I said, kissing her paw again. "Don't go back to the house tonight, please? I don't... I don't want to be here alone." "I won't leave you alone, babe. I promise." "And don't ahh... don't let go of my paw. Ok?" "I won't sweetie." Her head lay back against the pillow, and she cringed slightly with unease. She looked like a homesick kit. "Would you," she paused. "...sing to me? You never do anymore. I miss it." My brow furrowed- singing, singing.... I'd been in a choir, once. In church. But there was a song I used to sing to Lilly every now and again. Something sweet and soft. Filled with love. I raked my brain for the words. After a time, they tumbled quietly out of my muzzle and into her ears.

She's like the swallow that flies so high She's like the river that never runs dry She's like the sunshine on the Lee shore She loves her love, but she loves no more

She closed her eyes and lay back again, her ears gently unpinning from her slender skull. I took a breath, and continued, squeezing her paw. I would stay with her.

'Tis down in the meadow this fair maid bent A-picking the primrose just as she went The more she picked, the more she pulled Until she gathered her apron full She climbed on yonder hill above To give a rose unto her love She gave him one, she gave him three She gave her heart for company

The lilting sort of tune faded from the hospital walls. My pelt had crawled slightly, and I shook myself- I knew that I was forgetting some words, but what else was there to sing? Lilly was asleep like a kit, her chest rising and falling against the luminescence of a nightlight, and the blinking monitor buttons. I ran my paws over her, looked at the white fur of her neck, and thought fleetingly of... No. The thoughts escaped me. It was just my wife, breathing in the night. She was there a week, I remember. It took a while for the doctors to agree exactly what was wrong with her- or maybe the tests kept coming back inconclusive, I don't remember. The only detail that stood out in my mind was that they were sure it was blood related, and I cursed myself for not thinking of it myself. She was perfect on the outside, why not have sick blood? Why not? What is a diamond without a flaw? I writhed in the delusion of thinking I could have kept her healthy, if only I'd paid attention, or been thinking clearly. During this time, I spend my day at her bedside, staring at her and letting the edges of my vision blur away. I "ate" at the hospital cafeteria, which mostly amounted to picking away at a plate of fries or a grilled cheese sandwich before getting worried and rushing back to Lilly's side. Every time I came back, she was sleeping, and I began to feel more and more... redundant. I was determined to spend every waking moment at her side- I even spent the nights curled neatly into a cheap plastic chair just outside her room. But I couldn't escape the feeling that maybe she didn't need me. Lilly wasn't awake often enough to know when I was gone- I could slip out, right? I could smoke (I had quit some years ago, on her behalf), or grab a bite of actual food, or maybe go bring one of her favorite possessions... And yet, it made me sick and furious at myself. How dare I think of myself, when Lilly ached and cried? How dare I even assume to know the meaning of ‘suffer'? Well... I was suffering. I bore a horrid pain. It rent my dreams apart, stripping me to a kit, quivering in his father's angry shadow. I'd wake up afraid and alone, though I knew she was right there, just a room away. I felt as if I had begun to understand what she must have been going through. And yet, every time I saw my wife stricken still and asleep in that bed, I couldn't help but feel my illness paled in comparison to hers. Some days, I would go out, and walk along the dreary streets back to our house to pick something up for her- a thermos of non-hospital soup, maybe, or a pillowcase that sort of smelled like us. I'd pick her flowers. Or something. Some days, I would just stare at the place she used to lay when we slept together, and my paw would clench to tight, it would bleed a little. I would think terrible things about her, and then terrible things about myself. It made me slam doors, growl at shadows, stupid things that I always felt guilty for. I would pace in the hallway, and the nurses stopped trying to talk to me. To ease myself, I'd go and I'd visit the doe, and maybe slip her a twenty or something- she never seemed to be doing any better when I saw her next. She would complain, talk about her son, repeat details to me over and over again. He was dying. Dying in a hospital. She couldn't help him because of the money, which she never had enough of. Damn corporate bodies, sucking up all her cash- I could only listen to her. It made me feel better to know that someone gave a damn- but at the same time it only made me flinch. Every now and then, she'd say something, and I'd twitch really hard. I think it was because I was thinking of Lilly. One day, they came to me, and told me that she was going to die. The words slid over me, soundless, and without weight. But my ears perked when they said that she would live with a transplant of some sort- a kidney, just one. Something within her had failed, and I leapt at the chance to right it with my own body. Could I have hoped to be so lucky? But they kept their eyes off me when they answered, shallowly shaking their heads, weak husks of the males they claimed to be- without even the courage to tell me to my face that I was wrong. My blood type was different from hers, and if they used my kidney, it would be rejected. They needed one from her family, a relative, a mother, a grandmother, a father... It was my shame to admit they were all dead. So they transferred her to a list, where she would wait for a kidney, for health. Look at my pitiful luck. The list was filled- miles long if they could have used one sheet, covered in names of more deserving patients, people who had sickened first, people with insurance, people who deserved a kidney. It was ghastly, and I could barely look at it, though my paws clutched like death around the cheap clipboard. I began pacing the halls all that day, wracking my brain, thinking, thinking, claws in time with the clock. Tick tock. Click, I rapped on the walls, casting long, wayward glances at my wife. And at three o' clock one cold and drowsy morning, it occurred to me. There was a doe with a kidney. Just one- given to her son, perhaps? Or had the lad died? I checked the list- there wasn't a deer among them, but it made sense. They had had no money, and I did. Lilly did. She had the ability to pay, yes, but not the kidney, and she needed the kidney, you see. So I got in my head that she must be asked, be probed—what was her blood type? I paced faster and faster, and eventually went to the cafeteria to settle myself with some warm milk. I bid farewell to my wife's paled face and kissed her on the nose, a quiet goodbye which I like to think she heard. It was time for me to leave the hospital, a driven man with the full intent of procuring something sacred. I had to know, or it would drive me mad. A or B? Had she said? And would she be willing to help me? That doe, that doe... I gave her the money- one hundred dollars. There wasn't a buck on the list. If she was still there, well; I needed to ask her. That was the only solid thing in my mind. Shyness was not going to save us. When I could stand it no longer, I broke from the cafeteria, dashing up the elevator. I was impatient, excited, and my heart was filled to the brim with hope and fear and aventure so that I could barely stand it. My mind retraced the steps as if I had made them every day instead of once in my life. "We're going home." I whispered to the night, determined, my eyes locked with the moon as I scampered down into the darkness of the city, breathing with it, eyes sharp and seeing. I walked all the way down to the alley where I had seen the doe. And I found her, slumped against the wall, traces of lipstick smeared across her black lips, whisky sharp on her breath. A frail blanket covered her up to the neck, and her head was resting on hard red brick. She looked worse for wear, and I could feel pity sting my heart- but I wouldn't let it get in the way of my mission. I was here to ask. "Hey." I said softly, nudging her shoulder with my paw. "Ma'am? Get up. Hey." She stirred, ever so slightly. The flicker of her eye betrayed her. Did she remember me? Or did want me gone? "Who..." She said. "What is your blood type? Quick, it's really important. I have to get back." Her eyes shot open and she threw herself against the pavement, crawling away from me. I held out my paws to show that it was just a question, but it didn't seem to calm her- I could see a scream rising in that pretty throat. She suppressed it. "Get away from me!" She hissed, her hands searching frantically for something in her pockets. "Is it A?" "I said get away from me!" "It's just a question- can't you answer? Please? I have to know- it's really important." "Don't!" She was on the verge of shrieking, and my hackles bristled. I could feel an eager burning in my blood. And dear God, Lilly, was I ever scared. "Don't scream." I clenched my jaw shut- she was shuffling away again, like some awkward crab. I bolted to her, kneeling down, crawling at her. "Don't scream- please! Just tell me, I really have to know. It's really important just—Don't you do it!" "Get the fuck away!" The hint of a sob was heavy in her voice. She cried out, a quiet, muffled and broken sound. "Don't scream." "You freak!" "Don't! Shut up!" "I said--!" And she screamed. She screamed long and loud, and I got so scared, Lilly. I got so scared, and I was afraid the cops would come and take me away, and I'd never get to see you, or touch you, or hold you. So I did the only thing I could- I brought the steak knife down, right on her chest. I couldn't see, because I had my eyes closed the whole time, but I could feel it cut through the fat of her breast, tearing out the flesh with the serrated edge. It was just a cheap cafeteria steak knife. It wasn't sharp. "Shut up!" I whispered frantically, trying to get my paw around her muzzle. "Stop screaming! Shut UP!" My paw was shaking so bad, I couldn't quite get a grip, and the doe's voice kept spurting out in loud, hallow shrieks, squirming and hollering like an animal. I could smell her wetting herself, but I just shut my eyes and crammed more of that ragged steel into her bulging belly and heaving chest. The idea came to me when she began to break free, and pathetically scrape herself against the pavement in an agonizing attempt at escape. I could save my wife- but I had to be quick and good. I yanked the knife out again, and she made a soft grunting sound. Her belly was being emptied out as she turned to crawl away, clutching it- I could smell her insides. It was terrible, and I was quaking with fear- but nothing mattered if Lilly was going to die. I couldn't let it happen, I couldn't! I scrambled up her back. I planted the blade in her spine so hard that the metal bent- but it made her stop moving. I think I crushed something- I could feel a pop, a shake of the knife in my paw. I crawled up on her back, and began my work. I was long, laberous, but it needed to be done. I cursed myself for not bringing a scalpel- I could have found one if I had been thinking. I should have been smarter, I could have been faster. I made the first incision just below her shoulder blade. I wasn't exactly sure of the anatomy, but I had taken a class in college, and cervine anatomy wasn't all that different from canine, bovine, or equine, right? I shut my eyes and tried not to think about it- I imagined that I was cutting through a resilient steak, perfectly seasoned. It was tough, and I kept slicing, tearing away little by little. Occasionally, the doe beneath me would moan, but I was so focused, I could barely take notice. I just kept sawing and scraping, until my poor wrists were sore from the effort. But by then, my breathing had steadied out. Lilly made those steaks just perfect. I enjoyed mine done ‘well', but she always made them so juicy, it was difficult to tell at first. With a side of mashed potatoes, and green beans... The knife took a little bit to saw through it, and I could remember nights when I really had to buckle down on a particularly thick piece of meat. Eyes still shut, I groped for the incision. No dice- I made another. It must have been hours. Eventually, I could feel the meat go cold. I went lower, then lower again. Finally, I found it- something kind of roundish and oblong, firm at its core. It was tough getting my whole paw in there, but I peeled back the pelt, and began to saw. By this time, I was clearly in my better mind, and thinking properly. I began to rejoice. Lilly would have a kidney now. Lilly would have this one, the doe's. One hundred dollars for one kidney. Perfect. I remember pulling a lot. My paws were all greasy. I put it in a paper sack. I got to the hospital with it in my paws, hoping no one would be repulsed by the smell, or worse, attracted to it. Some of the fluids had seeped through the paper sack, but I don't think anyone took notice. Most of the hospital was a blur anyway- the adrenaline dump was making it hard for my eyes to focus just right. I ran, bucking past orderlies, sidling around carts and doctors, ducking nurses- I ran up stairs when the elevator wouldn't come. If I felt fatigue, or pain, it was far, far away. I raced to the doctor- he was just preparing to leave, it seems. I got down on my knees, looked up at him with a kit's eyes- how could he resist? I panted, wagged my tail even- he was a border collie, how could he not have appreciated that? I begged like a dog. But what did he say to me? "What the hell is this?!" A note of disgust. A note of surprise. My ears cocked. He dropped the bag to the floor, vomit flooding his nostrils. Soon he was on his knees like me, his paws clenched over his muzzle. I watched the bile dribble out of his nose in slow motion, the canine's eyes swiveling up and locking with mine as he backed away, crawled away like the doe. "Is it compatible?" I whispered expectantly. "What the hell happened to you?" "In here- It's a kidney. See?" I showed him. He doubled over. "It's for my wife- now you can operate on her. Come on. Take it." I growled the last line unintentionally. "Fucking take it!" He shook his head wildly, scrambling to his feet and dashing toward a phone. I heard thunder crack outside, and my hackles rose again. Fire was filling my eager blood. I was livid. Lilly! I had to get her! They weren't going to operate on her? I would. I could. I'd done it before. I'd just pull one out and stick one in. Yes. I'd save her. I would. I dashed up to her room. Lilly? There she was, on the bed. White as a sheet. I grabbed her paw, but she didn't move. Too sick, I knew. Again. I pulled her, yanked her, threw all of my weight, but she was too tough to carry alone. So I picked her up and put her in a wheelchair. I ran and ran, rushing past people. I could hear claws on the tile. The clatter of my knife on the floor. Someone screamed something and I had to dash back, clutching it like a child. I watched them watch me, backing away. A little akita pup was crying. We made it down. I needed to be far away with her, I knew- I found someone in the parking lot, waiting in their car, burning fuel. An old badger, fat and slow. I took out my knife, and pressed it delicately against his neck, and ordered him out of the car. The old fuck wouldn't move fast enough- I needed time. God, how I needed time. When he had finally stepped away from the car, I said thank you, and crammed Lilly in the back seat. It was raining, and my fur was plastered to my face. My darling was waking up. She moaned, but I told her I'd fix her, and she'd be ok. I pleaded with her to keep quiet as I started the car, and drove like all hell out of that parking lot. I told her again and again to keep quiet and let me concentrate, but it did no good. The windshield wipers weren't working, there was too much rain, and I was afraid. We gunned it out of the parking lot, out of the city, going to someplace far away where I could operate on my beloved without fear of interruption. I remember a lot of red lights. Right lights and a flashing beacon behind me. Loud sounds. Lilly was awake, and telling me things in a loud voice, gripping my arm. I told her to be quiet, showed her my knife. Things were so slick that night. I don't know what I was expecting, but as I began to close with the police, I decided that I might have done something wrong. I might have miscalculated. Somewhere, I lost control of myself, and then the car. I could see a barricade ahead, and I swerved up onto the sidewalk, the tires screaming with the friction, their smell filling up my nostrils. I could hear the glass bust, and I saw the steering wheel crush against my muzzle. And then blackness took me away, and I felt quiet. I woke up, and things were warm- the rain was hot as hell, and falling in big, fat drops. I opened my eyes, and everything remained peacefully black. I put my paws on my muzzle, struggled with vertigo as righted myself. Any strength I possessed had left me, and I found that I could only crawl on my paws and knees, caressing the rough asphalt with my weary body. I felt something warm flowing through my eyes, seeping out onto the bridge of my snout. Rainwater? I plucked a sizeable shard of glass from within my socket. Oh. My paws groped in the darkness. I found her footpaws first, still bare, her pads intact. I crawled a ways. My ears weren't working- all I could hear was a loud ringing, like radio feedback, or an alarm of some kind. Blind and deaf, I touched her body. Her leg, with no thigh. And then a long streak along the car- wetness. Burning. I couldn't tell. I could feel my eyes growing cold. The warmth was flowing through them. Eventually I found her muzzle. I don't know if she was alive or dead. I found her ear, kissed her, just below her eye and above her cheek. I wanted to say something. I had remembered the song. Of all times, I had remembered it. I gave Lilly her last lullaby.

And as they sat on yonder hill His heart grew hard, and harder still- He has two hearts instead of one. She says ‘young man, what have you done' How foolish, foolish you must be To think I love no-one but thee. The world's not made for one alone; I take delight in ev'ry one. She took her roses and made a bed A stony pillow for her head. She lay her down, no more did say, Just let the roses fall away.

Goodnight, Lilly. Goodbye, I. There isn't any more. Sleep well. Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes. It is foolish to fear that which you cannot avoid. ~Publilius Syrus