She told me that her husband had sat with Rosie all night after she’d had her pups. He dozed and Rosie overlaid one with her big tired body. The corpse was the size of his hand, a girl, another shade of Rosie’s gold. He dug a hole outside the fence where the other dogs couldn’t get it. The dirt came up in clumps, not far from thaw, he humped at the shovel with only the dead pup with him. His nose and ears were raw with cold when he laid the dog in the ground. Rosie whined at him from the other side of the fence. It was still early when he crawled into my mother’s bed, she rolled and woke to him staring at the ceiling with tears running in the cracks beside his eyes. She told me this later in a low voice, the phone was hot against my cheek, neither of us had ever heard of him crying.