Dandelion Walk

Today, a little boy—he’s so tiny, he’s only comes up to my chin—tried to give me a present, but it blew away. He was playing in a big fenced-in field of overgrown grass smothered by dandelions—all of which had traded their yellow flowers for those gossamer balls of silver seeds. He gathered a bunch of green-stemmed puffballs and ran across the field to the fence as we were walking by.

“Hi, Dog,” he said.

“Hi to you, too,” said Joan, pretending to be me.

“Hi, Dog. You like flowers?”

“Oh, such pretty flowers,” said Joan, pretending to be me.

I went up to the fence and wagged my tail a lot. Shane stayed close to Joan, not sure what the little boy might to do him from behind the fence. (Yikes.)

“You like flowers?” the boy asked again.

And before Joan could pretend to be me, he stuffed the bouquet of dandelion balls through the wire fence. I tried to wrap my tongue around them, but they escaped into the air and separated into tiny silk beads. The little boy and I watched them circle sleepily around our heads, and the sun lit them up like fireflies. Then, poof; they were gone.

“Bye, Dog,” said the boy.

“Bye-bye,” said Joan, pretending to be me.

And we went on our way. I looked back at the boy before we crossed into the next street and were met by two pit bulls who always bark at us when we pass their house. They’re nice pit bulls, and the owner tries to pretend he’s the boss over them. Today, he came to the door and called them into the house when they were barking at us.

When they ignored him, he barked, “Get in here. Did you hear what I said!”

Joan came to their rescue. “They’re just doing their job,” she called protectively.

The guy pretended not to hear her. Instead, he again asked his dogs if they had heard him. Now, that’s a silly question to ask a dog.

I think I heard Joan whisper, “Idiot.”

Best wishes, Juno