Sparks for a Good Dog

Journal

Scout not likes the boom. I packed the quilt anyway.

We walked to the back field before anyone parked.

The quilt was enough.

I sat first so he could use my chest as a hill.

His ears went sideways at the first distant pop.

I talked to him through the loud part.

Same voice I used when he was a pup in a thunderstorm.

Between bursts the sky went quiet enough to hear the river.

He licked my wrist like a receipt.

The last one was gold and slow.

He watched it. I watched him watching it.

We walked home in the dark, no leash.

He stayed against my knee the whole way.