I was talking to Issachar. I scratched the short black wool along his muzzle, his big round eye looking into mine. Then he brought his nose to mine and breathed in, smelling my breathe, knowing me in a way I will never know him.
Issachar’s twin brother Asher was sitting a few feet away chewing this cud, a long piece of grass hanging from the side of his mouth.
When Issachar moved away from me, I saw Asher’s handsome face lit by the morning sun. That’s when I took his portrait.