The little girl had been sitting outside his kennel for almost twenty minutes before anyone realized she had no intention of moving.
The senior Shepherd mix was lying near the back when she first stopped.
He had been surrendered after his family lost their housing, and by then he had already spent far longer in the shelter than anyone had hoped. His muzzle was gray. His hips had lost muscle. One hind leg was so affected by arthritis that getting to his feet could take several attempts.
That afternoon, there were approximately four hours left before his scheduled euthanasia if no appropriate adopter or rescue placement could be confirmed.
He did not know that.
The little girl did not seem interested in the number either.
She simply sat down on the hallway floor outside his kennel.
At first, the Shepherd watched her without moving.
His head came up from the bedding.
His ears shifted.
The child kept both hands in her lap.
She did not call him.
She did not tap the bars.
She did not reach through.
For several minutes, nothing happened.
Then the Shepherd moved one front paw underneath himself.
His chest rose.
His rear end followed much more slowly.
The arthritic hind leg trembled almost as soon as he tried to put weight on it.
He paused.
For a moment, staff thought he would give up and lie back down.
Instead, he took one step.
Then another.
His back end dragged slightly on the painful side.
The little girl remained still.
The Shepherd kept coming.
By the time he reached the gate, his hind leg was shaking badly enough that staff were ready to intervene.
He did not try to remain standing.
He lowered himself.
First the front.
Then his chest.
Then his hips, carefully, with the bad leg stretched slightly away from his body.
He ended up directly against the kennel door.
The little girl was only inches away on the other side.
The Shepherd moved one front paw forward.
It slid beneath the small gap at the bottom of the gate.
The paw stopped in the hallway.
The little girl looked down.
Then she placed her hand beside it.
She did not grab him.
She did not curl her fingers around his toes.
She simply rested her palm on the floor next to his paw.
The dog lowered his head.
And for the first time that afternoon, he stopped watching everyone else.
He Had Not Entered the Shelter Because His Family Stopped Wanting Him
That part of his history mattered.
The Shepherd mix had lived with a family before shelter intake.
He had not been surrendered because he became old.
He had not been surrendered because arthritis made him inconvenient.
The family had lost their housing.
The shelter had documentation supporting that the surrender followed a housing crisis.
That did not make separation easier.
But it changed how staff talked about his history.
They did not describe him as “thrown away.”
They did not invent an owner who walked out without caring.
Housing instability can break apart families in ways that include animals.
Sometimes there is nowhere for a large senior dog to go.
Sometimes temporary care lasts longer than expected.
Sometimes a shelter becomes the only immediate option.
That was how he arrived.
The First Weeks Were Easier on His Body
When the Shepherd entered the shelter, he was already senior and already arthritic.
But he could still move through the kennel more comfortably than he could now.
He stood without as much hesitation.
He walked to the gate when people stopped.
He could manage short outdoor breaks.
He occasionally chose to remain standing for a greeting.
Staff still saw stiffness.
The bad hind leg took shorter steps.
His rear end needed a few seconds to organize after rest.
But the decline in function was gradual.
Months in a kennel did not cause his arthritis, but the environment was not ideal for a dog with chronic joint disease.
Hard surfaces.
Frequent transitions.
Limited space.
Repeated excitement when people passed.
All of those could make an aging body work harder.
His Arthritis Was Treated as a Medical Condition
The shelter did not simply say, “He is old.”
His gait was evaluated.
The affected joints were examined.
The spine was assessed for pain.
Muscle mass was documented.
The veterinary team watched whether he dragged the foot, whether paw placement remained normal, whether there were neurologic signs, and whether pain appeared to come primarily from the joint.
The pattern supported severe chronic arthritis in one hind limb with age-related weakness through the rear.
The plan focused on management.
Pain medication appropriate to his health.
A lean body condition.
Supportive bedding.
Nonslip surfaces where possible.
Short, controlled walks.
Avoiding unnecessary standing.
A support harness for harder days.
No one promised the leg would become normal again.
It would not.
The goal was comfort and function.
The Kennel Made Him Want to Stand More Than His Body Should
That became one of the most difficult parts of his care.
The Shepherd was socially interested.
When people entered the row, his head came up.
If someone stopped at his kennel, he often tried to rise.
Staff could see the conflict.
His mind—or more accurately, his observable social behavior—pulled him toward the gate.
His body resisted.
Sometimes he pushed up on the first try.
Other times his rear end lifted halfway and settled back down.
If he failed once, staff rarely let him repeatedly struggle.
They went to him instead.
That became the rule.
Do not make the old dog work for attention.
The Little Girl Followed That Rule Without Being Asked
She was visiting the shelter with an adult.
Staff had already explained that the Shepherd was older and had difficulty standing.
When she reached his kennel, she did not call him forward.
She sat.
That decision changed the entire interaction.
The dog still chose to come to her.
But there was no pressure.
No repeated patting of the floor.
No hands reaching through the bars.
No excited voice.
He moved because he wanted to close the distance.
And once he arrived, she did not ask him to do anything else.
The Paw Through the Gate Was Not New
Staff had seen variations of it before.
When the Shepherd lay near the front, he sometimes stretched a front paw toward the hallway.
It was not constant.
It did not happen for every visitor.
But when he settled very close to the gate, one paw occasionally slipped under.
Perhaps it was simply the most comfortable extension of his front leg.
Perhaps he had learned that hands sometimes came close there.
The rescue did not assign a human meaning.
On that afternoon, what made the moment different was the little girl's response.
She placed her hand beside it.
And left it there.
He Did Not Pull the Paw Back
The Shepherd's body relaxed.
His head lowered near the bars.
His arthritic hind leg remained stretched to one side.
His front paw stayed in the hallway.
The little girl's hand stayed next to it.
Every few minutes, she adjusted her sitting position.
The dog barely moved.
Someone passed farther down the row.
Normally, he might have lifted his head to look.
This time, his eyes opened.
Then closed again.
He had stopped trying to track everyone.
One person was staying.
The Shelter Was Facing a Real Deadline
The four-hour timeframe was not symbolic.
The facility was overcrowded.
The Shepherd had been there for a long time without an appropriate permanent placement.
Incoming animals still needed space.
Medical and behavioral needs still had to be managed.
The shelter had reached a point where his kennel could not be held indefinitely.
Without confirmed rescue or adoption, euthanasia was scheduled.
That reality was painful.
It was also important to describe accurately.
Staff did not claim he was scheduled simply because he was old.
His arthritis complicated placement.
His length of stay mattered.
Shelter capacity mattered.
The fact that no suitable placement had materialized mattered.
These situations are rarely explained by one factor.
Four Hours Did Not Mean Four Hours of Performance
Once the urgent post began circulating, interest increased.
That created another problem.
More people stopping at the kennel meant more chances for the Shepherd to try to stand.
Staff did not want that.
If visitors wanted to meet him, they were instructed to come down to his level.
Sit.
Crouch.
Let him remain on bedding.
If he approached, fine.
If not, go to him when appropriate.
The deadline did not justify exhausting him.
The Little Girl Was the Best Example of That
She had been offered the chance to move along.
There were other dogs.
Other kennels.
She stayed.
Not dramatically.
She did not cry loudly.
She did not cling to the gate.
She simply kept her hand next to the dog's paw.
The adult with her eventually sat down too.
The Shepherd continued resting.
That quiet scene gave staff more useful information than a high-energy meet-and-greet would have.
He could settle near a child who behaved predictably and calmly.
That did not automatically establish universal child compatibility.
One interaction never can.
But it showed that in this specific context, he was comfortable enough to rest.
He Was Not Asked to Get Up for Her Again
When staff later needed to reposition him, they came inside.
A support harness helped protect the arthritic rear leg.
He was guided carefully.
The little girl stood back.
The Shepherd moved only as much as necessary.
Once the bedding was adjusted, he lay down again.
Then, surprisingly, he moved back toward the gate.
Not all the way at first.
He rested several feet away.
The little girl sat down again.
The Shepherd watched her.
A few minutes later, he crawled forward.
This time he did not stand.
He used his front legs to shift his body closer while keeping the hindquarters low.
Staff stopped him before the movement became too strenuous and moved his mat forward instead.
That solved the problem better.
The Bed Came to Him
The shelter had learned this lesson with many seniors.
If a dog repeatedly chooses a socially important place, move the comfort there.
The Shepherd's supportive mat was repositioned directly behind the gate.
Now he could lie near people without crossing the kennel.
His bad hind leg could remain supported.
His elbows stayed off the hard floor.
Water was placed within easy reach.
The environment finally stopped forcing him to choose between rest and proximity.
His World Had Become Smaller
Months earlier, he could manage a full kennel.
A hallway.
Short walks.
A meet-and-greet room.
Now every few feet mattered.
The distance to water.
The distance to the gate.
The number of steps outside.
The height of a vehicle.
The amount of time he remained standing.
For a senior dog with advanced arthritis, small distances become major logistical questions.
That did not mean life had no value.
It meant accessibility had become part of every decision.
Potential Adopters Needed to Understand That
The shelter could not simply say, “He is sweet with a little girl” and send him anywhere.
He needed a home equipped for age.
Preferably one level.
Minimal stairs.
Nonslip floors.
Supportive beds.
A short route outside.
Veterinary management of chronic pain.
A willingness to use a rear-support harness.
No expectation of long walks.
No pressure to greet visitors standing up.
And if children lived in the home, they would need to interact with him in ways that respected his body.
Sit near him.
Do not climb on him.
Do not hug painful joints.
Do not ask him to repeatedly rise.
The little girl outside the kennel had accidentally demonstrated the ideal approach.
The Shelter Had Seen Him With Adults Too
He responded well to calm people.
He could become more alert with energetic visitors.
On difficult mobility days, that extra excitement increased the likelihood that he would attempt to stand when he should not.
Staff learned to control the environment rather than blame the dog.
Quiet introductions worked better.
People sitting worked better.
Short sessions worked better.
The Shepherd did not need more enthusiasm.
He needed less physical demand.
He Still Enjoyed Going Outside
That mattered.
The old dog was not completely immobile.
With support and on a good day, he could walk a short route.
His nose still worked.
He liked grass.
He paused at scents.
He sometimes stood longer for a smell than staff would have preferred.
The handler watched his gait carefully.
Once the bad leg became more unstable, they turned back.
No one measured success in distance.
A few minutes of sniffing could be enough.
The Little Girl Asked to Go Outside With Him
Staff adapted the idea.
She did not hold the leash.
A trained adult handled the Shepherd.
The girl walked several feet away, slow and quiet.
The dog took a few supported steps.
Then stopped to sniff.
The child stopped too.
When he turned back, she turned back.
No pulling.
No calling.
No racing ahead.
It was a short outing.
The Shepherd returned to the kennel tired but not distressed.
The child sat outside again.
The paw returned under the gate.
The Countdown Continued
Three hours and change.
The shelter kept contacting rescues.
Senior-dog groups.
Foster networks.
People who had asked about him before.
The little girl and her family could not simply take him home that moment.
There were practical questions.
Housing.
Care capacity.
Veterinary costs.
Whether they were actually seeking to adopt.
The shelter did not turn a touching interaction into an assumption.
The child caring about him did not automatically make the household the right placement.
That Was Important
Urgent rescue stories can create pressure.
A child sits with a dog.
People want the story to end with that child taking him home.
Real placement decisions are more complicated.
Can the adults provide care?
Does the home allow a large dog?
Are there other animals?
Can someone physically assist him?
Can arthritis medication and follow-up be maintained?
What happens if his mobility declines further?
Emotion can start an adoption inquiry.
It cannot replace the care plan.
A Rescue Asked for His Medical Records
Staff sent them immediately.
The rescue wanted specifics.
Current weight.
Medication.
Recent bloodwork if available.
Mobility notes.
Whether he could rise independently.
Whether he was continent.
How he handled transport.
Whether he tolerated a support harness.
Behavior around people.
Observed response to dogs.
Observed response to the child.
The shelter answered carefully.
No exaggeration.
No “perfect with kids.”
One calm child interaction was described exactly as it happened.
The Shepherd Slept Through Part of the Process
The girl remained outside.
At some point, his eyes closed fully.
His paw stayed under the gate.
Her hand remained nearby.
She eventually moved her fingers slightly closer until the side of one finger touched the fur above his toes.
The Shepherd did not react.
He kept sleeping.
Staff did not encourage more contact.
The dog was resting.
That was enough.
His Tail Moved Once When He Woke
Not a large wag.
A small movement against the mat.
Then his head came up.
He looked at the girl.
She smiled but remained still.
The Shepherd lowered his head again.
That was the kind of interaction that mattered for him now.
Minimal movement.
Maximum proximity.
The Rescue Needed a Medical Foster
A normal foster placement might not be enough.
The old dog required someone comfortable with senior care.
His bad leg made falls possible.
He might need assistance standing.
He might need help getting into a vehicle.
He needed monitoring for changes in pain and mobility.
A foster who had never handled a large mobility-impaired dog could still potentially learn, but the rescue wanted support in place.
Equipment.
Instructions.
Veterinary access.
That took time.
The clock did not stop while they organized it.
Two and a Half Hours
The little girl finally had to leave the hallway briefly.
The adult with her needed to speak to staff.
She stood.
The Shepherd lifted his head.
His paw remained under the gate.
The child walked several feet away.
The dog's eyes followed.
He did not try to stand.
That was important.
His mat was now at the front.
He could watch without using the bad leg.
A few minutes later, the girl returned.
She sat down.
The Shepherd's head came back to the bars.
Then down.
Staff Noticed How Much Less He Was Moving
That was good.
Earlier in the day, every visitor had triggered an attempt to rise.
Now, with one person staying near him, he did not need to keep resetting the interaction.
He could simply remain.
In some ways, the little girl had reduced the physical burden of the urgent attention around him.
The Shelter Began Directing Other Visitors Elsewhere
Too many people crowding the kennel would not help.
The Shepherd already had company.
If someone was seriously considering placement, staff could arrange a controlled meeting.
Otherwise, the medical row remained calm.
The goal was not to maximize how many people saw him.
The goal was one viable placement.
The Rescue Found a Foster Possibility
A one-story home.
Experience with large senior dogs.
Rugs already in place.
No young high-energy dogs.
A quiet environment.
The foster could manage a support harness.
The rescue had veterinary backing.
It sounded right.
Still, nothing was final.
Transportation had to be arranged.
Paperwork completed.
The foster had to review his needs fully.
The shelter did not announce him safe.
The Little Girl Was Told There Was Hope
She did not respond with a dramatic scene.
She looked at the Shepherd.
Then back at the adult.
Then sat down again.
The dog remained asleep.
That was perhaps the most appropriate response.
Nothing had changed for him yet.
Less Than Two Hours
The rescue commitment became firmer.
Medical records were accepted.
The foster confirmed.
The shelter began transfer paperwork.
The Shepherd still had to be physically moved.
That would require careful planning.
He could not simply be walked across the building.
His bad hind leg would not tolerate it well.
Transport Needed to Respect the Arthritis
A support harness was prepared.
A low rolling stretcher or stable transport surface was considered if needed.
The vehicle would come close to the exit.
No jump.
No stairs.
No slippery ramp without traction.
His body had already worked hard enough that day.
The transfer had to cost as little physically as possible.
The Little Girl Stayed Until Staff Needed Access
When it was finally time to prepare the Shepherd, she moved back.
A caregiver entered the kennel.
The dog opened his eyes.
The paw came back inside.
He did not stand immediately.
The support harness went around his rear carefully.
Staff made sure pressure did not aggravate the painful area.
Then he was encouraged up.
His First Attempt Failed
Front half up.
Rear rising.
Then down again.
No one made him repeat it immediately.
They paused.
Adjusted.
One person supported the chest.
Another supported the hindquarters.
The Shepherd tried again.
This time he made it.
His back leg shook.
The little girl watched from several feet away.
No one asked her to call him.
No one wanted the dog pulling toward her.
The path out needed to be controlled.
He Took Only a Few Steps
Then paused.
The harness supported part of his weight.
He moved again.
Slowly.
The kennel gate was open.
For months, that gate had been the boundary he watched people through.
Now he crossed it.
Not dramatically.
Not with new strength.
With help.
The Little Girl Crouched in the Hallway
Staff paused.
The Shepherd looked toward her.
His front paws shifted.
He tried to turn.
The handler kept the movement gentle and wide so the arthritic leg would not twist.
The girl stayed where she was.
The Shepherd reached her.
Then, instead of remaining standing, he lowered himself.
The hindquarters came down first with support.
Then his chest.
He lay in the hallway.
The child placed her hand beside his paw again.
Same position.
Different side of the kennel gate.
There Were No Bars Between Them
That lasted only a few minutes.
The dog needed to continue to transport.
But staff allowed the pause because he had worked hard physically and needed rest.
The little girl did not climb over him.
She sat beside his shoulder.
One hand near the paw.
The Shepherd's head rested on the floor.
His eyes partially closed.
The whole scene was quieter than the urgency around it.
He Did Not Need to Walk the Rest of the Way
Staff used support.
The vehicle had been brought close.
The Shepherd was assisted safely.
No expectation that he should make a triumphant walk through the shelter.
He was an old dog with a severely arthritic hind leg.
The humane version of leaving was the easiest one.
The Rescue Transfer Was Completed Before the Four Hours Ran Out
Only then could staff consider the immediate deadline resolved.
The Shepherd was in confirmed rescue care.
Medical responsibility transferred.
The foster was ready.
Veterinary follow-up had been arranged.
The countdown ended.
His arthritis did not.
The Foster Home Was Prepared Before He Arrived
A low orthopedic bed sat in the main living area.
Rugs connected the bed to the nearest door.
Water was close.
No stairs were required for daily life.
A support harness remained available.
The foster had been told something especially important.
Do not make him come to you.
Go to him.
That lesson came directly from the shelter.
And from a child sitting outside his kennel.
His First Evening Was Mostly Rest
Transport had tired him.
He entered the home with assistance.
Sniffed briefly.
Then lay down.
No visitors.
No toys thrown.
No tour of every room.
The Shepherd needed decompression and physical recovery.
The foster sat several feet away.
Eventually, the dog shifted his body toward them.
That was enough.
The First Footsteps Made Him Try to Stand
Old habits followed.
The foster got up to go to the kitchen.
The Shepherd's head rose.
Front paws moved underneath him.
Before he could push up, the person returned.
Sat beside him.
The Shepherd stopped.
His body relaxed back onto the bed.
That became the new rule almost immediately.
If he wants to follow but does not need to, return to him.
His Social Life Could Now Happen Lying Down
That changed everything.
A person sits on the couch.
The bed is nearby.
A visitor comes in.
They approach him.
He can sniff from the mattress.
The arthritic leg does not need to support a greeting.
He can remain part of the room without moving from one end to another.
For a senior dog, that is not a small convenience.
It is quality of life.
The Girl's Interaction Became Part of His Care Notes
Not as a sentimental story.
As useful behavioral information.
He tolerated a calm child sitting nearby.
He approached voluntarily.
He settled.
He extended a paw through the gate.
He rested while she remained close.
He was not observed being climbed on, hugged, or handled roughly.
That distinction matters for future placement.
The lesson was not “he loves all kids.”
The lesson was that quiet, respectful child interaction had gone well.
His Arthritis Remained Severe
Some days, he stood with assistance.
Other days were harder.
The foster learned his signals.
The rear leg trembling.
The shortened step.
The weight shifting forward.
Those were cues to stop.
Not push.
Veterinary management continued.
Pain control was reviewed.
His weight was kept lean.
Activity remained gentle.
He Still Likes to Be Near Doorways
That did not disappear.
If someone enters, he notices.
If the front door opens, his head lifts.
Sometimes he tries to stand.
The foster has placed a mat where he can watch without lying on a hard surface.
Again, the environment adapts.
He Still Extends One Front Paw Toward People
Not always.
But often enough that the foster noticed.
Someone sits beside the bed.
The Shepherd stretches a paw outward.
Sometimes it touches a leg.
Sometimes it simply rests near a hand.
No one grabs it.
They let him decide how much contact he wants.
The Little Girl Could Not Become the Ending
That was important for the rescue to recognize.
The emotional moment at the kennel was powerful.
But the dog's future had to be built around adult responsibility, medical capacity, and sustainable care.
A child can show compassion.
Adults have to carry the practical part.
Medication.
Veterinary appointments.
Mobility support.
Transportation.
Financial care.
End-of-life decisions when the time eventually comes.
That is what makes a placement real.
The Rescue Never Told Him He Was “Saved”
Dogs do not need that language.
He needed the results.
A bed.
A quiet home.
Pain management.
People who come to him.
No euthanasia deadline determined by kennel space.
That was the meaningful difference.
His Previous Family Still Matters
The rescue did not erase them from the story.
They had lost housing.
The dog lost his home as part of that crisis.
There is no need to turn human hardship into villainy to make the Shepherd worth caring about.
His history can contain love and loss at the same time.
That is often the reality of surrender.
The Shelter Had Held Him as Long as It Could
That sentence remained difficult.
Staff had known him for months.
They had adjusted his bedding.
Managed his arthritis.
Helped him stand.
Watched him decline.
Tried to place him.
The four-hour deadline was not emotionally easy for them.
But shelters operate inside capacity limits.
The rescue transfer changed what was possible for this one dog.
It did not solve the larger problem.
The Paw Through the Gate Became the Image Everyone Remembered
Not the countdown.
Not even the arthritic leg.
The paw.
One front paw under the metal.
A little girl's hand beside it.
The old dog lying down because he could no longer stand comfortably.
No one trying to make the moment bigger.
That was why it stayed with staff.
In the Foster Home, There Is No Gate to Slide It Under
So the behavior looks different.
The Shepherd lies on his orthopedic bed.
A person sits nearby.
He stretches a front leg.
The paw lands on the rug.
Sometimes someone places a hand beside it.
The same arrangement.
No bars.
He Still Has Hard Days
That is not hidden.
Arthritis does not reverse because a rescue was found.
His mobility may continue declining.
He may eventually need more assistance.
The rescue and foster understand that.
His quality of life is monitored.
Pain control is adjusted.
The goal is not to keep him going at any cost.
The goal is to keep the time he has comfortable and meaningful.
He No Longer Has to Stand to Keep Someone Near Him
That may be the greatest difference.
At the shelter, people passed.
If he wanted proximity, he had to get to the bars before they disappeared.
The little girl changed that for one afternoon simply by sitting down and refusing to make him chase the interaction.
The foster home has made it permanent.
People stay.
Recently, a Child Visited the Foster
The interaction was planned.
Quiet.
Supervised.
The Shepherd was already on his bed.
No one called him over.
The child sat several feet away.
The dog's head lifted.
He watched.
Then shifted one front paw forward.
The child placed a hand on the rug.
Not touching.
Just nearby.
The Shepherd did not stand.
Several minutes passed.
He moved the paw a little farther.
The child stayed still.
Eventually, the edge of his paw touched the side of her hand.
That was all.
His Bad Hind Leg Never Had to Carry Him
That is exactly how staff want future interactions to look.
Connection does not have to be physically expensive.
A senior dog can be social from a bed.
He can greet with eyes.
With a nose.
With one front paw.
There is no prize for standing.
Four Hours Almost Became the Last Number Attached to Him
It did not.
The rescue commitment came in time.
The transfer happened.
The clock stopped.
What remains is not a countdown but a care plan.
Medication.
Bedding.
Traction.
Support.
Short walks.
Quiet company.
The Little Girl Eventually Went Home
That is part of the story too.
She did not become his owner.
She did not need to.
Her role was smaller.
She sat with an old dog during a frighteningly short window when everyone around him was trying to decide what could happen next.
She gave him something the shelter had struggled to give consistently.
One person who did not pass by.
The Shepherd Did the Rest
He dragged his painful body to the gate.
He lowered himself.
He put one paw beneath the bars.
Then he stopped trying.
That may be the most important part.
He did not need to keep performing once she stayed.
Staff Still Remember How the Scene Ended
Not with the dog standing.
Not with the child hugging him.
Not with a dramatic rescue announcement in the hallway.
It ended quietly.
The Shepherd lying behind the gate.
The little girl sitting outside.
His paw on one side.
Her hand on the other.
Both still.
Now the Same Position Happens Without the Barrier
He lies on a bed.
Someone sits nearby.
The paw stretches out.
A hand rests beside it.
Sometimes they touch.
Sometimes they do not.
The arthritic leg remains stretched comfortably behind him.
No trembling stand.
No four-hour countdown.
No kennel row.
He Is Still Old
Still slow.
Still painful on some days.
Still dependent on people making good decisions around the body he has.
That has not changed.
What has changed is who has to cross the distance.
At the shelter, he did.
Even when it hurt.
Now people come to him.
That Is the Ending His Body Needed
Not youth.
Not a miraculous recovery.
Not running through a doorway.
A place where someone can sit down beside him before he tries to stand.
A bed where he can stay.
A hand close enough that he does not have to drag himself anywhere to reach it.
And when his front paw stretches toward someone now, there are no metal bars in between.