As I wait for Taylalt to whelp, my thoughts turn increasingly to her origins, her ancestors and her culture. I am confident that there is a place for her in the larger scheme of things and that her progeny have the chance to influence the future of her race here in the west. I also think about Bomboukou, the white one, sire of the coming litter and son of Tiraout whom I will always remember as the fierce puppy I pulled from a hole in the vast nowhere of the Sahel. I think about the relatives of Taylalt and Bomboukou; both the ones who have left for another dimension and the ones who live out their lives in this one. And even though the future might appear uncertain, I believe that life is unfolding as it must and that Allah's mercy is without limit.