the shep hung out the cab windows of the truck in front of us. sometimes, he'd turn and eye us, front legs dangling over the side of the door like a teenager riding along in his big brother's sweet rig, tongue lolling out like he's the king of his universe. other times, he'd pace excitedly from one side window to the other, snapping his jaws in the air to catch blowing milkweed.

sometimes, the farm parents would load all us kids into their station wagon and drive into town for ice cream. we fought over who got to have the rear-facing bench seat. one time, i got it, and sat quietly in the back reading one of the picture books scattered against the floorboards. 'i hate reading,' said one of the other farm boys. 'i dunno how you can read back there.'

they had a dog, too; he was a big golden retriever whose name i may never recall, because the first time i set foot on the farm, he ran over and knocked me into the mud to lick my face, and i didn't like it. the dog was told to leave me alone forever, and we never had a relationship. that was before i met the great dane that would teach me that dogs are good.

09 June 2018 20:42

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