When Lucky was between two and five, about, she was gramma’s dog. Unquestionably. Touch Gramma, and lucky would go off on you. Four pounds of fast snapping jaws and attitude. Anyway, Lucky followed gramma around wherever she went, sat beside her, under her chair at the table, on her lap while she watched TV.

Gramma had the habit of sitting in the living room after dinner, and falling asleep sitting up on the couch. Her head would fall forward on her chest, and her teeth would fall out. Then lucky would lick those teeth absolutely clean, holding them between her little black and brown paws. Mom would come in from doing the dishes and wake gramma up, she’d pick up those teeth and stick them right in her mouth.