Have you ever wondered what happens to love when the lovers are gone? "No Love Lost" is a story about the love between a Sheltie breeder and her dogs. It is fiction, but I very much want it to be true. No, that's not exactly what I mean. I want it to come true.

It was snowing that afternoon, great cottony flakes that splattered the windshield of the taxi like the wings of dead moths. Arabella Townsend pulled off her kid gloves with some difficulty; the rings would catch. Complacently she glanced at the mountain of bags and packages that filled the passenger's side of the front seat.

Outside, city blocks sped past the taxi windows. The stores were jeweled with tinsel and colored lights. Santas rung bells on street corners; laden shoppers plodded doggedly along slushy sidewalks. It was that time of year. Christmas.

Arabella leaned back with a sigh. She had done it: all the family's presents in one day. The little amethyst ring she was having made for her oldest granddaughter wouldn't be ready until two days before Christmas, but it was taken care of. Tracy would love it. Cicely's present, as usual, had given the most trouble, and not only because she'd had to dodge her sister for a few minutes while buying it. What, indeed, was the appropriate present for a middle-aged spinster who lived alone with two dozen dogs?

Arabella darted a glance at Cicely, who sat beside her in the taxi. Cicely looked tired. She sat slumped forward, chin in hands, elbows on knees. Cicely's eyes were shut, lending more austerity than usual to the crisp, well-defined angles of her face. Arabella, because unobserved, took a long, critical look at her younger sister. Cicely's graying hair was drawn back from her face into a simple knot at the neck, insecurely held by two long pins. She wore a fleece jacket, jeans, a plaid shirt, and well-worn leather boots. Arabella looked down at her own opulent cashmere-covered lap and modish high-heeled boots. "Fifty-five years old and wearing jeans downtown to Christmas shop! And look at her, simply worn out." thought Arabella, "and me still quite fresh, though she's two years younger." Cicely nodded and caught herself; the blue eyes opened. Arabella looked quickly away. "Tired?" she said.

"Yes," replied Cicely. "I do wish you hadn't insisted on going today. I was up all night with Georgette's new litter. They were born underweight and aren't nursing well on their own."

"Oh," said Arabella. "But today was the only day I could manage to get away for the next week, and I did want to get my shopping done before the merchandise was all picked over. It's too close to Christmas as it is. And we couldn't go alone--we've gone Christmas shopping together since I was eight and you were ten."

"Of course," said Cicely. How long ago that seemed. Two little girls, one with braids and one with golden flyaway hair, holding hands tight, free hands clutching plastic purses. It was a lovely memory.

"You will come for dinner on Christmas Eve as usual," Arabella went on. Her chins folded cosily into the collar of her coat as she nodded, agreeing with herself. "We can't let you be alone on Christmas Eve. And you can stay the night if you want. Sheila's two can double up in the mauve room."

"You know I can't stay overnight," said Cicely, as she had replied for decades. "I have to let my kennel girl spend Christmas Eve with her family."

"Your life is ruled by those Shelties, Ciss," said Arabella. "You've got to arrange it so you're not so tied down."

Cicely was silent. This, too, she'd heard countless times. After an interval, she said, as she always did, "I'll be there for Christmas Eve dinner, and come back Christmas Day after breakfast after I get all the dogs fed and exercised. What do you want me to bring?"

"Oh, I won't have you worrying about it. Everything is all arranged this year. Mariette is bringing the pies again. Clever of Johnny to have married such a good cook."

"I can make good pies, Arabella," said Cicely. "I used to bring them. Don't you remember?"

"Certainly, dear. But it's all arranged. And it's time we stepped aside and let the younger generation make their contribution. I don't want Mariette to be upset."

"Right," said Cicely. "I'll bring flowers for the table."

"If you must," said Arabella.

"What if I stayed home this year, Bella?" said Cicely, looking out the window. The afternoon light was fading into dusk. Slushy streets sped by.

"Stayed home!" Arabella turned to face her sister. "What would you do all alone on Christmas Eve? And on Christmas Day?"

Cicely thought of what she would do. She would spend Christmas with the Shelties. She would lift the telephone off the wall and build a huge fire in the study. She'd have hot chocolate and turkey sandwiches. She'd buy some smoked pigs' ears and ten pounds of the best hamburger and a package of liverwurst. Midnight loved liverwurst. She'd go to the library and get three or four mysteries by Ngaio Marsh. Next, she would hit the video store for half a dozen of her favorite films. Then she would close the door to the world and have her holiday. All the adult Shelties would be there, and the three older puppies that were being show-trained and were already housebroken. She'd bring all the dogs up to the study where the Christmas tree and the fireplace and the big leather chair stood. It would be warm, and the lights from the tree and the fire would dance in their eyes and on the ribbons and trophies in the glass cases. When they wanted activity, they could go out into the orchard and she'd throw a stick for them in the snow, in the moonlight. Then back indoors for more hot chocolate and some little balls of cooked hamburger. It would be so peaceful. Why had she never done it?

"There," said Arabella, misinterpreting Cicely's long silence. "You can't think of a thing to do sitting all alone in that old house. Just picture what it's always like at our house at Christmas. The whole family. The food. The tree. The fireplace. The packages. And the children. What's Christmas without children?"

That hurt. Cicely shifted her weight on the soft seat of the taxi. The world outside was blue; light was nearly gone. "If only Ned hadn't died. Why couldn't we have at least been married and had a child first? I never tried to fall in love again. How could I have married anyone but Ned? No wonder I was drawn to the dogs," she thought wryly. "I'm loyal. And what good is that?"

"Tracy and Mike are eleven and nine this year, and Sheila's twins are six," Arabella rattled on happily, "so they are just the right age to enjoy Christmas." Cecily imagined them ripping off ribbons and clawing at cardboard containers, half submerged in crumpled paper, their little eyes pointed with the joy of possession, the way they always were at Christmas. "And you'll get to meet Dennis and his little girl Donna."

"Dennis?" asked Cicely.

"Dennis is my new son-in-law," Arabella returned, irritated. "Shiela's husband. You remember. They were married in April and you sent them a quilt. The twins love him. Donna is his child from his first marriage. She's eight."

"Oh, yes," Cicely murmured. "Sheila's third."

"Well, he's a good man," snapped Arabella. "He's an advertising executive for Watson and Plunkett. And you should see their new home." Arabella described the place at some length.

Cicely allowed herself to think about Christmas with the family. Arabella, her husband Ralph, the married children John and Shiela, and their families. The elegant, richly appointed house, cluttered with fashionable color-keyed accessories. The cloying smell of the food and the sharp, clean scent of evergreens and of bayberry candles. Arabella's oppressive floral perfume. Finally, Ed and Tom, Cicely and Arabella's older brothers, and their wives and children. Cicely found it increasingly difficult to remember Ed and Tom as the boys who were her own brothers.

Ed and Tom seemed more like brothers of Arabella's stolid husband, Ralph: affluent, conservative, respectable, and above all, managerial. Patronizing. "Cicely, I can offer you a job in my office. You can't run a kennel all your life. It's dirty work for someone your age." "Cicely, I would be more than glad to do your taxes this year. And I'm sure you don't have adequate insurance coverage." "Oh, is this your new champion? Isn't he cute?"

"I'll be sick," Cicely decided suddenly. "I'll be sick and I'll stay home, that's what. Let them pity me at a distance. If Tom and Ed want to see me, they can jolly well come to my house for a change." She allowed herself to smile slightly. They were almost to Arabella's house, where Cicely had left her van. It was past time to feed the puppies.

Red taillights flared in the darkness ahead. The taxi driver slammed on his brakes.

Arabella screamed and clutched Cicely's shoulder as the taxi slewed around in a fantastic arc to meet the headlamps of a truck coming up fast in the opposite lane. Light and darkness met and shattered. Cicely felt Arabella's hefty purse clip her hard under the chin. She fell into the steel door of the taxi and drowned in pain, and went out.

The room was while and Cicely floated in it. She saw a tube in the air, followed it down to where it entered her wrist: hospital.

She was in the hospital in a high bed with a blue cover. There was a window. Outside it was very dark. "The dogs!" she thought wildly. "Who is taking care of them?" But then she relaxed. Sally would have called Eleanor when she didn't come home, and Eleanor would be there. A call button was close, near her hand. "I must find out how I am. And Arabella?" Cicely made to press the call button, but her hand would not wake.

Frightened, she tried to move her arms and legs, and failed. Her voice had gone as well. The lights of the room dimmed and brightened. At length, Cicely found that she could blink her eyes and turn her head just a little to one side.

And Arabella was there in the next bed. She had tubes, too, white and red and golden, and she seemed asleep, but her face was gray with a red flush across the cheekbones.

The door opened softly and admitted a nurse followed by three stocky men in dark suits. Ralph. Ed. Tom. "No more than a few minutes," said the nurse, and left them.

Someone took her hand. "Look, Ciss is awake," said Tom. "Hi, Ciss. Hi, there."

"She doesn't know we're here," said Ed, pulling him away. "Shock."

Hastily Tom dropped her hand as if he had picked it up by mistake.

"Well," said Ralph peering at Arabella without touching her. "Well. This seems to be it. The doctors say they haven't a chance, either one of them."

Cicely panicked, lost them for a moment, tried to scream; the light in the room grayed.

Dying. "What about the dogs?" she thought. "No, wait. Wait. The will is done. Eleanor knows where it is. The kennel, the house, and the property will go to her, as well as all the puppies, the brood bitches, and Champion October Rain, as long as she cares for the six old-timers until they die. She will; she loves them and has coveted Rain since he was a puppy. Misty and Lyric will go to Marion Waller. I wonder how they'll like it on a ranch in Texas. Champion Black as Can Be will go to Syd Jeffers; Canby will be some consolation to Syd, since Jet died last Year. Canby is young. He will sire some good litters for Syd. And Silverfire will stay with Eleanor; I couldn't bear for Silvy to leave her home, and I'm sure Eleanor will be glad to keep her and finish her championship. She's one money couldn't have bought. . ." The men's voices intruded. They were being solemn.

"Shall we have a double funeral, or separate ones?" Ralph was asking.

"Oh, together," said Ed. "Save at least a third the expense."

"But the best of everything nonetheless," added Tom.

"Of course," the other two men added in unison. "The best."

"Our wives will see to the service and the flowers, I'm sure," continued Tom.

"But I'm not dead," thought Cicely desperately. "Damn it, I'm not dead--and listen to them. Look at them; every eye is dry. I'll beat the odds. I'll live."

"What about Cissy's dogs?" asked Ralph.

"Oh, she had a will," said Ed. "We needn't worry about that. I told her several years ago to fix it. I can't be bothered with them in the event. I told her."

"Good," said Tom. "Surely she's left us the property."

"Surely she has," said Ed. "After all what other family does she have? Thirty acres, the house, the barn--and the kennel," he added as afterthought.

"Ha," thought Cicely fiercely, warmed by her knowledge.

"But what if she lives?" asked Tom doubtfully. "She'd be incompetent. Dr. Martin said that the paralysis can't be reversed, and he thinks there was brain damage."

"Oh, it would be easy to get a conservatorship for her," said Ed. "We'd sell her place and the dogs and use the money to keep her. The place would sell easy. Wouldn't be much trouble. Probably a bit left over, if you know what I mean."

"That's about it, then," said Ralph. "If you boys wouldn't mind, I'd like to spend a minute alone with my wife."

"Of course," the brothers said in unison. Their hands met as they both clapped Ralph on the shoulder, and self-consciously they dropped their hands. They left without a backward glance.

Ralph looked furtively at Cicely as he bent over Arabella's bed. "I'm only 53," he said then. "Good-bye, Bella, you bitch. What luck that you never found out about Marcia." With a final uneasy glance at Cicely, he went out.

"Let me think," Cicely said to herself. "Let me think." Her head was beginning to hurt, and a thin line of fire pricked coals down her left side. "If I die, the Shelties will go as I've written it in my will, but if I live. . . If I live, Tom and Ed will take them from their home and sell them to the highest bidder. They'll have the old ones put down. They'll sell the place to some subdivision developer." She thought of the dogs each in turn, Rain and Midnight and Silvy and Georgette and the others. Her loyalty to them seemed to be as important as theirs to her. "Why, I must die now," she thought. "I must not fight it. I will let go."

Then Arabella woke. "Cissy?" the querulous voice wavered. "Cissy? Are you here? We're in the hospital. We were in an accident. In the taxi."

Cicely spoke before she realized she could. "Yes, Bella."

"Am I going to be all right? Am I?" Arabella demanded.

"Yes, Bella." Why not say what comforted? "You'll be all right."

"I must call Ralph and the children. They'll be frantic." The tubes shivered as Arabella tried to move her arms, but they were securely strapped down.

"Ralph was just here," said Cicely. "He knows all about it. And Tom and Ed came, too. But you were asleep."

"Wouldn't you know it." The complacent note crept back into Arabella's voice. "I'm sure they came as soon as they heard. What a close family we are."

"Oh, shut up," Cicely thought miserably. "I am trying to die and I don't know how." What would it be like on the other side? Were people immortal? Were dogs? Who would be there? Mother and Father? Please, no. Cicely had never understood them nor they her. They were cold and manipulative like Arabella and the boys. People living close but not being close, like Arabella and Ralph: "Good bye, you bitch."

Maybe she would find Ned on the other side of death. But would she? She hadn't been certain that he'd loved her as she had loved him. But maybe, maybe. It had been, however, such a long time. What about the dogs? Newborn whelps she'd fought for and lost. Puppies that had died in her arms. Damn that parvovirus before the vaccine had been perfected. She remembered lovely Ellie, and Gypsy, and sober little Chad. Then there were the white-muzzled old friends that had gone at their appointed times: Sapphire, Torch, Snowy, Bear. Last of all old Surf, long coat gray as a storm at sea, liquid dark eyes still unforgotten, pain of loss still raw after a decade. Would Surf be there? No, heaven was not for dogs. Just for people, if indeed there was immortality. Cicely sighed. She'd given her love wrong, all these years. Too late now. She must let go of her life at once and vanish in order to protect those that still depended upon her.

It was so quiet now, that perhaps she could manage it. Bella had shut up. Bella. With an effort, Cicely turned her head. The blue coverlet over her sister did not stir. Bella's face had melted into waxlike translucency. She was dead. A little beeper went off; there came a sound of running feet. "Well, if she can do it, I can do it," thought Cicely. And died.

There was mist. She was chilled to the bone and wet with it through her hospital gown, but she was herself. Cicely. No tubes, no pain. The dark mist swirled about her like smoke from a grassfire. Her feet, her legs were lost in it. There was no distance. Everything seemed close and far away, until something loomed darker at her right hand.

The shape became Arabella, who engulfed Cicely in an awkward and terrified embrace. "Thank god you've come, Ciss. I've been scared to death. What's happening?"

"Let go of me, Bella, you're hurting!" Cicely said, unclamping the clenched little claws. The gaudy rings were gone. Cicely began to laugh a little and answered Arabella's frantic question. "We've died, Bella, that's what."

"Well, I knew it," said Bella, suddenly taking over. "I guess I knew it. Let's look for the others. I'm cold."

"The others?"

"Mother and Dad and Ella and Aunt Betty and Jerome," said Arabella irritably. "We're in heaven. They must be here, too."

"Are we?" said Cicely, affronted. "It doesn't look too heavenly to me." Had she traded life for an eternity alone in the mist with Arabella? If so, it was not heaven.

"Of course, it's heaven," said Arabella sharply. "I've always gone to church, and I give regularly. Come on. Let's look for Mother."

"I'm staying right here, at least for a while," said Cicely, rubbing her bare arms. "If anybody else is up here, they no doubt know the place better than we do and will soon find us. I think I'm tired."

Arabella sank down beside Cicely in the mist. It swirled and churned below her pale chins. "Think of it, Ciss. Everybody will go to our funerals. Shiela will be in floods, I know it." The small ringless hands washed each other. "What will she do without me? No grandma for Tracy and Mike." A little tear trailed down her cheek.

"They have a grandma," said Cicely. She was thinking. "Ill wait here until Arabella falls asleep, and then I'll get away. I'll go mad in short order if I stay."

"Louise Mabbutt is not their grandmother!" Arabella retorted. "She's their step grandmother. It's not the same."

"She loves them," said Cicely. "And besides, does it matter--now?"

"Oh, my god." Arabella began to blubber. "I'm gone. I'm dead and gone. Forever. They're all alive and dry and warm and it's Christmas and I'm not there. Oh my god. Do you know what Ralph got me this year for Christmas? An emerald pendant with diamonds all around it. I peeked." Arabella thrust out her hands. She looked at the fingers. "My rings!" she exclaimed.

"You can't," Cicely said somewhat sententiously, "take it with you, evidently." A grim thought brought a clear image of gray Silvy curled in a ball and dreaming by the fire. No, you couldn't take it with you.

Arabella cried harshly at first, and softly for what seemed a long time. Then she stood up. Cicely noticed ungallantly that Arabella's hospital gown gaped in the back. "I'm going to call for Mother," she announced, and proceeded to do so loudly and at length.

Cicely hugged her knees and shivered, wishing for sleep. Sleep sounded very good. "Hell is murky," she thought. "Shakespeare was no fool."

At last, Arabella left off calling, collapsed in a huddle beside Cicely, and began to sob again. But something had changed.

Cicely stood up and blinked. Not far away there seemed to be a hill solidifying from the mist. A faint green washed the vague slope as it gathered substance.

"Look, Bella," she cried. "Do you see it?"

"Quiet, Bella, I hear something."

"What? What?" Arabella gabbled frantically.

"Shut up, Bella!" Cicely hissed, shaking her off. "Shut up. Listen."

Arabella, terrified, was unbiddable. "What? What?"

Then Cicely knew.

"Why, it's barking," she said. Then "It's Gypsy. It's Snowy. It's little puppies, too. Can't you hear them? Listen. Listen. It's Surf!" The grass on the green hill sparkled with dewdrops.

"Surf? The sea? I don't understand. I don't hear anything. I don't see anything," Arabella cried desperately, straining forward.

"I can hear them running now, too," Cicely said. "Any moment now they'll crest the hill. They're coming for me."

She began to walk toward the hill with the great unladylike strides she'd always used.

"Coming for you?" Arabella whispered, trailing after her. "Who is coming for you?"

"Every dog I ever loved," said Cicely without looking back.

"Wait, Ciss. I can't see you any more. Where are you?" screamed Arabella, but her voice was fading. "Come back, Cicely. You heard me! Get back here. Don't leave me. You can't leave me!"

The sun came up as Surf crested the hill. Light shone brilliantly behind him from a glory of lifting fog. Surf was there, running flat out toward Cicely, his long, silver coat streaming back in the wind of his speed. And he was young.

Many came after him, puffs of bright fur haloed by the morning sun.

The End