Gifts? Gifts? No, nothing concrete, but I am grateful for the lovely dog I have, a Welsh Corgi named Cash. Cash and I are joined at the hip and she does not like my being removed from her presence. I talk to her sometimes about what I’m feeling and I’m sure she both understands and represents a caring soul from another time who has passed on and decided to inhabit Cash’s bodily form. Could it be my mother’s Aunt Sophie, who took care of her when my mother was orphaned at seven, but ended her own life in such desolate circumstances? I feel badly when I miss an opportunity to brush Cash’s wonderfully soft and thick coat twice a day. Ditto for playtime. But I know she understands. She listens and is patient and is so sweet-natured. She is possessed of a precious soul and I’m so glad she’s mine. Could her coming to me more than a year ago have been basheret (“fated”)? Indeed, she is a gift.