His gentle hand caresses the soft fur as if he is savoring the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. When one hand stops the other takes over, then with both hands, the boy reads every inch of my dog. Iggy is as calm and measured as the child’s breath, understanding somehow that this is what he is meant to do. When the boy finally looks up at me, his smile communicates everything that his opaque eyes cannot. Despite myself, I smile back, knowing full well he does not see me, and knowing full well that it does not matter.