Photo, “Keeping Time,” by Susan Licht, https://www.instagram.com/susanlicht/
Yes, I still have my dog’s puppy teeth. I’ve never admitted this to anyone until two weeks ago, when our son’s dog, Jax, got hit by a car.
Jax is an 80-pound, 4-year-old silver lab, although more dark gray than silvery. He boasted large paws and a strong body even as an 8-week-old, picked up at a CA breeder’s ranch in the middle of a wildfire. In some ways, Sonny claims, Jax is a “rescue” dog.
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Joan strolled around the tropical complex on a soft evening dotted above with stars.
Her trip to this island had been everything she hoped for on a solitary October vacation, escaping a stress-filled job, worrisome aging parents, and a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. The days melted into each other as she strolled for hours on secluded beaches, sat at the ocean-view bar and slowly savored pink-umbrella drinks, avoiding the curious glances of those with family or lovers.
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Almost surreal, the rain continued even as the sun peeked out like a shy little girl. Buttoning up my rain coat, I left the safety of my front door and raced toward the car.
“Can’t you see where you’re going?” a tiny voice asked.
Darn, I tripped over something that seemed more stump than human, yet whatever it was had chastised me! Earnestly looking around for the victim of my haste, I felt a tug at the bottom of my jeans. Continue reading
He was a teenager. That’s the first bit of information I should share with you before you judge me.
From the age of 13 to 15, he changed from a huggable, lovable son who bought me flowers to a changing-voiced male who thought that most of what I said was either simple, silly, or just plain stupid.
I understood. After all, I wasn’t ancient enough to not remember how I felt as a teen. Continue reading
Sally finally made the phone call. She planned on answering Ben when he first asked. But that had been – oh dear – at Great Aunt Agatha’s 90th birthday party five days ago. Continue reading
roughwighting 