August nights can surprise. An August day is like the ruler, the big boss, the head honcho, the bully that turns up the oven from sunrise to sunset just to make you feel all helpless and clammy. But, the night doesn’t always copy the day. Sure, sometimes it can be just as mean, just as uncaring; but, other times, it gets all gentle and even a little apologetic for some of its past behavior. Tonight was one of those nights, so I went outside to bask in its kindness.
I sat for hours under the spell of the night breeze, my belly resting against the spongy carpet of cool grass. Tonight the grass was extra soft because Joan had just mowed it, which left it feeling a little damp and smelling like—well—freshly cut grass. Every time the wind picked up, the trees would wave their leafy arms and whisper secrets to one another; and not even a dog can understand the storytelling of trees, especially the ancient ones. The perfume from the mint patch in the back yard drifted into the front yard and fell asleep right under my nose. Sometimes, the breeze would stop and silence ruled the yard. Then, a car would pass or someone in a distant house would crack open a can of beer or a smile. I could hear it all.
Shane sat at the side of the walk and pretended he was enjoying the peace. But, he kept looking back at Joan, hoping she wouldn’t go inside without him. He’s still dealing with his abandonment issues. Me, I’m secure. It’s in the genes. What can I tell you? I’m a lucky dog. Shane is, too. Sometimes he knows it.
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