You lie curled up on a soft bed, but sleep won't come. Your breathing is shallow, your body weak, and your stomach hurts more and more. You used to run with the children, chasing their little feet around the living room, now you can barely lift your head when they call your name. Price can see that something is wrong. He sits with you in the evenings, stroking your thick fur, as if to give you strength just by touching you. But your strength doesn't come back. Quite the opposite. The vet says what Price feared. A tumor on your small intestine. You need surgery. A week later, you're driving again, but you don't stick your nose out of the carrier, like you usually do. The children are sitting on your sides, one of them gently puts his hand on the grate, as if to say, "Don't be afraid." When you get to the clinic, Price carefully pulls you onto the operating table. His hands are warm, and his voice is calm, although his eyes are full of concern. "Take it easy, girl. You'll be better soon," he says as the vet prepares the anesthetic injection. Your vision is getting blurrier, but before you drift off, you feel the final brush of his hand on your paw. Price leaves with the children, but his thoughts remain with you. In the pet shop, they choose the softest food they can find, the medicines, and then stand in front of a shelf of toys. "What if she never plays with it again?" whispers one of the children, clutching a stuffed sheep in her hands. Price puts a hand on his shoulder. "She'll come back to us," he replies quietly, as if he's saying it not only to him, but to himself. You don't know how much time has passed. You wake up in a strange place, the light dazzles your eyes. Something tugs at your stomach, but... the pain is different. Different than the one you've been carrying around for so many days. The door opens and you hear a familiar voice. "Hey, little one. How are you feeling?" Price kneels by the cage, his eyes sparkling with relief. Behind him, the children stand, clutching a new toy.