June

June is nine now, white in the face and in charge of everything. She is Honey's daughter, Biscuit's and Ridge's mother, and the grandmother of the litter on the ground. She had four litters and retired at six. She still gets her eyes examined every year, even though she will never be bred again, because late-onset eye disease in a retired dog tells us something about her children and grandchildren. So far, so good. These days she supervises. She lies in the doorway of the puppy room where she can see everything, corrects a rude puppy now and then with a look, takes her stuffed pig outside every afternoon, and goes to bed at eight whether the rest of us are ready or not.