But that was her father’s story.  That was how Lena had pictured it all the times he had told the story when she was a child.  Today Lena pans across that familiar rooftop once more, and this time she notices how the dog sees Rocko out of the corner of her eye, glances quickly toward him and then away, distracted by the ball.  When she is suddenly lifted into the air by his strong arms she is confused for a moment, desperate to right herself.  The position in which she is being held is uncomfortable, but she isn’t frightened, not yet.  Even as she feels herself lifted higher she is not afraid, though she whimpers slightly, a question.  And then there is a moment of suspension, nothing to support her, but still no fear.  Only a great noise, a pressure as she falls and things run together.  A whine escapes her throat, a small whine, so distant she can’t hear it, it has nothing to do with her, does not relate to her.  She is not thinking as she falls for the noise and the blur and the pressure.  And then suddenly that last moment, the final thud and gasp, the involuntary bark, again so distant it can’t be hers, and a strange coldness followed by a seeping warmth. Knowing it isn’t really so bad as she turns inward away from the press of people, the faces above her as they close in.  She is unaware of their stares, unaware of herself.  Everything is lost. And she understands now, how there is nothing so worth keeping that its loss does not somehow set her free.