For the leaf

Then, there it was. I saw it first. A leaf, suspended as if floating. Spinning in the air, attached, invisibly but firmly, to the end of a broken spider web.

Finian saw it too. He turned from the stray cat hair that had his attention. He spied the leaf. And bit it.

Surprisingly, and unlike all other leaves, it bounced away.

So he bit it again. This time it flew back behind him. In the dusk of a summer night, impossible to see where it went. He looked around. And around (in the entirely wrong direction). I watched it twirling just behind his head.

And then, he found it! Bit for it. This time, it appeared he had it. He sat down with it in his mouth, triumphant.

Until it flew off again.

This only went on for five minutes. Because that was when I decided it was time to move on a few feet.


Goodbye, or something like it

I try to do what the dog trainer tells me. Consistency, boundaries, focus.  Tin foil to keep him off the couch, frozen cottage cheese to keep him occupied, a special t-shirt to keep him relaxed. All the right things. You have to follow all the rules when you’re a terrier’s mom.

It’s the goodbye rule I haven’t learned.

You’re supposed to just walk out the door. A quick careless wave. A “hey, see you later.” No monologues about how much you’ll miss him. No long glances back behind you. But you’ve given him his favorite toy, made it to the door, and you, just quickly, look back. There he is, the toy left unattended, staring at you.

You just walk out the door. This is what you’re supposed to do….

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