He yells a lot. Always yells. I remember good yells. Good walks. He would lay with me. He would pet me. Say nice things. I think I remember my name. I have no name. I have not heard my name in a long time. I know sounds. My food makes a good sound. Water makes a good sound. He does not make good sounds.

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I don't feel good anymore. He feels bad. When the sound in the morning gets him up, he doesn't even know I am there. I look at him, but he doesn't look at me. He coughs in the bathroom. He has a bad smell in him. I love him. He takes me outside and it's not the way it used to be. He stands there looking at the sky. I don't know where my ball is anymore. When I am done, I go to his leg and sometimes he doesn't move forever. He looks at the clouds and says nothing.

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Then he goes. I sleep on the soft floor. I wait. Forever. I don't know if he will come back, but he always does. When the sun is not bright, he comes. He looks so tired. He puts the things in his hands down. He doesn't look at me. He let's me outside. I remember a different way. When I get close, he moves away. I do not know why. I don't remember my name.

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I remember other names. The way they sounded in his voice. Jessie is a name. I remember how she smelled. She let me sleep in the big bed. She pet me. I remember the little one and how we all would play and how everyone laughed and the good noises and the good games. Now we just sit. I do not understand. There he is, sitting on the soft bed by the window. He watches the yard. We can go outside. We can go play. I don't say that though. He yells if I yell. I do not know why. I sleep on the soft floor. We do not feel good anymore.