"Okay. We're ready. Read us a story."

It was after a quiet breakfast that my husband reclined himself on the couch in the living room, the cushions in disorder and the coffee table strewn with articles of mail and a few books, including James Herriot's All Creatures Great and Small. I was sure that repose was a nice feeling after working all night in a nursing home. I rattled on and on about all the things I wanted to accomplish that day, not neglecting a few rabbit trails here and there to spice up my ideas. His eyelids drooped lazily and I pretended to be offended that he was so bored with my conversation. He was very tired, especially after the 6.5 sporadic hours of sleep he had gotten the day before. I lovingly suggested that he retire to sleep.

"Could you read me a story please?" He was feeling a bit young at heart.

"What shall I read?"

"Our book, of course!"

"Oh, right. Well... get into bed."

Johnny headed straight for our room which houses the infamous Marshmallow: all white, and wonderful to sleep on. He crawled and sank into cozy wonder, the morning sunlight flooding through the window. I sat next to him and propped myself up with pillows, just looking at him... intensely amused. He stared at me like a confused child, wondering what was talking me so long to read.

"I'm ready! Wait, I need Oma Horse and gator-ade." Johny scrambled out of bed and retrieved his cherished fiber-filled friends, took a flying leap back into bed, and carefully tucked the down comforter in around his companions, Oma Horse in the crook of his left arm, Gator-ade in the crook of his right, and a wonderfully boyish grin spread across his face, enhancing the excitement in his blue eyes. "Okay. We're ready. Read us a story."

I began to read this lively tale, transporting us into the world of this beloved English veterinarian, interrupting myself every now and then with a question: "'...my employer had left some time ago to do the P.M. on Lord Hulton's horse.' I forget what P.M. stands for... what does it stand for Johnny?"

"Post-mortem."

"Oh that's right. Okay, 'post-mortem.'"

Lord Hulton's horse had to be shot in the last chapter. Put from the agony of a colic and torsion. I was glad that that chapter had been over. Today we were getting to meet Tristan, a real character I'm finding out. The story continued in a very colorful and well versed manner. It was not long however before I sensed the being next to me, buried deep in the marshmallow soft as a lullaby, relax and become less and less responsive. His breathing deepened. Oma Horse and Gator-ade repossessed their places on the floor and Johnny's eyes closed.

As the chapter came to an end and my voice ceased, He opened his eyes and smiled at me. He closed them again without breathing a word. Johnny was asleep. I shut the book and climbed out of bed. Glancing once more at my husband, I was amazed at the sweet, deep slumber which he was entering into. It made me smile as I left the room, closing the door behind me.

**Every event in this story is true.**