I'm sitting here doing algebra. More specifically, I'm finding solutions to linear systems using the substitution and addition methods. It's late, about 2am, and I have school at 8am... and I'm not even halfway through. It's hot in the kitchen, so I open the door. I close the bathroom window and the swamp cooler blows the cool air out through the thick metal screen door in the kitchen. I put a chair against the door so the door won't blow closed on any of the ferrets who look outside and feel the cool air. The kitchen door is near my neighbor's fence, and on the other side of the fence are the dogs - the pit bulls, one of whom took my Navi's life. I have too much homework to do, but I stand at the door and watch. The hot air starts to blow out. At the bottom of the door is a three-quarter inch opening. I've never seen my guys even remotely get their head in there, but I am terrified. I look at the dogs, smiles on their faces. Just a few weeks ago their smiles were smiles. Now their smiles are only the result of the relaxed muscles in their faces, not really smiles at all. As I look across the fence at the dogs, Smokey wanders by my feet, looking out the door. I watch him. He sticks his nose in the opening, but soon loses interest. Maybe I can sit down and do my homework. I sit down and copy the first equation, but it's only half-copied before my eyes are drawn to the open door. I can't do this; this is obscene. I feel like I am tempting fate. It is cool enough, or if it isn't, too bad. Even though no ferrets could possibly have gotten outside, I open the screen door, go outside, and take a look. No ferrets. Good good good. I do this ten times a day. It is quiet and black outside. The dogs are standing by the fence, glad for my company. In the quiet I can hear them pant. They look for my hand to come over the fence so I can rub their ears. They don't have a clue that anything's wrong. I am angry and I am not angry, and I am confused, and I close my eyes. I want to hate them so I don't have to just hate myself, but my tears come before I can clench my fist. I want this fixed, I want this to never have happened, I just want to go into my house and see Navi sleeping on the dirty clothes, or in the bathroom cabinet, or anywhere... so I run into the house like a little boy. But Navi's not here. Smokey looks at me, and I look back, and I should be happy to see him, but I'm not, and I try to shake it off, angry at each emotion that takes a wrong turn. I ask my wife to gather the ferrets and put them up for the night. All present and accounted for. I sit down and do my homework. Supply and demand BS, damnit; I have to read to figure this out. This equals that, substitute this, check that. My mind takes a rest as it succumbs to the mathematical, but barely a minute after sitting down, the dogs next door start to bark. They bark all the time. I never used to hear it. Now I hear it all the time. My neighbor has to keep the two dogs outside most of the time so the big pit bull in the house doesn't hurt them - a brilliant plan I'll never figure out. I look out to see what they're barking about, but all I can see out my window is one lone star. Navi. She's up there, watching over me. And while I see just one star, I know there are billions and billions of stars in the sky. I think of the dogs and their lonely lives and I feel compassion for them. I think of all the other stars that I don't see, all in the sky with Navi - from other accidents, from disease, from neglect, from old age. Ferret stars, dog stars, every kind of animal stars. I close my eyes and try to conceive of the tragedy of their numbers, the tragedies we inflict and the tragedies we endure, countless upon countless. In my head, linear systems spin around and around and multiply themselves into infinity, and infinity becomes the number of angels who can dance on the head of a pin, and it all becomes inconceivable. And if I try to love one and hate another, the stars shine just a bit brighter to let me know that it's not possible - they are all just innocents. I open my eyes. All the ferrets are asleep, safely in slumber. I open the kitchen door and go outside. I walk up to the fence. It is still black and silent, and the dogs are standing by the fence. I look at them and swallow hard, and then I talk to them. I tell them that I know that they were just playing like dogs play, and didn't know how fragile ferrets could be. I tell them how important Navi was to me, and that I loved her very much, and that I'm not mad at them anymore, and that maybe I never was. The dogs stand there silent, panting, unknowing. I choke back my words, and then I reach over the fence and I rub their ears. I tell them over and over that it's OK, and that they're good puppies. They both clamor for my attention. This is what they understand. I look up at the night sky. Navi is shining, twinkling, small speck of white in a black sea. I close my eyes and tilt my face up at the sky, and I hear my own words whispered back at me. I draw my breath in and then I let it go. I walk to the kitchen door, and into the house where everyone's still sleeping. With everyone safely in slumber, linear systems somehow become clear to me. I finish my homework in peace. Roary Albuquerque, NM [Posted in FML issue 4889]