ministrations ovenbird In the morning when my body, unslept and nauseous, collapses onto damp sheets looking for a scrap of elusive rest, my dog comes to minister to my brokenness. First he stands right in the center of my chest, his scant eighteen pounds an anchor that steadies the pitching of my heart. Then he stares into my eyes. “Stay with me,” he seems to say and I can feel the physicality of his canine concern. Satisfied that I will live, he curls himself against my ribcage, and my breath slows just a little, and my hand finds the soft slope of his snout and the silky wedges of his ears. And he stays. Dogs are better at this than people. They never tell you to look on the bright side or to snap out of it or that you’re overreacting. They just offer you their steady presence. My dog sighs and settles and finds a soft place for his head and doesn’t move until I find the courage to stand. 260407 what's it to you? who go blather from