Everybody in our family has similar yet different eyes. My dad’s dark brown eyes are wise and aged. My mother’s are hazel, a wonderful mix of green and brown. Rachel’s eyes are like a caramel, chocolate latte -- shades of brown swirled around the iris. And me, my eyes are a mix. Sometimes green, brown, or blue. They are undecided, like me.
All our eyes hold personality, but I’ve never seen eyes like Lacey’s. Brown, like warm chestnuts. Brown, like warm embers that sparkle in the sunlight. Brown, like a soft sepia. I’ve never seen eyes that hold as much emotion and personality as Lacey’s. The ecstatic expression on her face when we come home. The lively look when we throw her a ball. The gleeful glance she gives us when we scratch behind her ears. The soft growls the escape her throat when playing. Brown eyes widen when her red rubber bone is in my hands. Nails slipping, sliding, trying to grip the linoleum floor -- chasing the bone that was thrown across the room. These are the nights I love, all our eyes on our Lacey.