Love comes walkin' in.

It's been a rough couple of weeks, filled with loss and sorrow and grief. The loss of Cassie, the loss of our good friend Chris, the sorrow of our good friend Nereyda. Monumental events and changes and mind-numbing grief. Even the little things seemed to go wrong, and I spent more time these few weeks waiting for the plumber than I usually do all year. Grief brought inattention, and therefore myriad small mistakes, and very little energy in reserve to help deal with them. Sometimes, sorrow comes to visit, and decides to stay a while, leaving his dirty socks all over the floor, soaking the floor of the bathroom when he showers, going through your stuff, and insisting that you accommodate his special diet of candy, cornflakes, beer and some kind of meat.

But even the sorrow that takes up the spare room and messes up your whole house can't keep joy standing on the porch. Because therapy doesn't always come on the psychiatrist's couch. Sometimes it comes on the sofa at home.

This is Captain. A 3-year-old Australian Shepherd---snook-monster extraordinaire. Never has a dog liked so many scratches and belly-rubs. Never has a dog's face gone so fast from tightly wrinkled concern, uncertainty and worry to eyes-wide-open, smiling laughter. Never has a dog made a faster transition from curled-up-flat-eared-defensive to flat-on-his-back, open-to-all-experiences, begging-for-tummy-rubs.

And never have we been so grateful to be the kind of people who sometimes leap even when we can't quite see the bottom.