To the dog abuser in rural Mississippi. The hound you left chained behind the tire shop is with us now. Her name is Marigold. We got her a few years ago.

You beat Marigold so hard she went totally blind. She wasn’t even two years old. And you blinded her.

I can’t imagine what she did to make you so mad. She is a gentle dog. Painfully gentle. Plus, she can’t weigh more than twenty-five pounds.

I can only assume that you were not in your right mind.

She had one eye removed, one eyelid stitched shut. The other eyeball is just for show. It doesn’t work, the iris is bloodred and vacant. But it’s a beautiful eye.

Because, you see, she is a beautiful girl.

It’s taken a few years to relearn how to get around. She bumped into furniture, she walked headfirst into walls. She uses her nose to lead her. She is a professional now.

Being blind is still brand new for her. And it’s a full-time job. She is constantly working, constantly trying to map out her new world.

Constantly deciphering new smells. Constantly trying to determine whether a nearby sound is friendly or otherwise.

She walks with a careful gait. Often, she high-steps, like she’s walking through quicksand. Other times she tests every step, like she’s on a tightrope.

It took a while to relearn stairs. She tripped over curbs. She fell over thresholds. She needed help finding her food bowl sometimes. She loves toilet water.

But I don’t want you feeling sorry for her. I don’t know if you are capable of such feelings. I just want you to know what you did to her.

You made her afraid. She cowers at booming noises. Probably because she can’t see what’s making the noise.

Benign objects, such as, for example, vacuum cleaners, sound like monsters. The sound of a garbage disposal is like a nuclear weapon.

I still find myself inspecting her wounded eyes. I find myself wishing she could see me.

I wish she knew how much I care about her. I hate that the last image her brain will ever remember is the image of you attempting to smash her head in.

She is a lovely girl. Purebred coonhound. Her ears are long. Her body, like a pixie. Her muscles, long and lean.

When she gets excited, she opens her mouth and bays. It’s not a bark. It’s a hound sound. Maybe the most lovely song on earth.

The sound of her ancestry. She comes from a proud lineage of scent hounds. The quintessential American hunter.

I took her to a public place yesterday. I wish you could have seen what happened.

People kept asking if they could touch her. Lots of people. She was an instant celebrity. Everyone fell in love with Marigold, although she could not see them.

A small crowd actually stood in line to touch her. They all lingered near and waited their turn. Four or five little kids got their pictures made with her.

That’s how incredible this animal is. The animal you almost broke. She is one in a trillion. No, one in an octillion. One in an infinity.

When she falls asleep in my arms, sometimes I weep thinking of how grateful I am to know her. She is, perhaps, one of the bravest creatures I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m only sad that you didn’t see it.

Perhaps it is not Marigold who is blind.