Golden and clumsy, its ears flopped with every step, tail swishing like it had a secret. It paused to sniff a leaf, sneezed, and then chased a plastic bag that blew past. Jamie found himself smiling. Not just with his mouth — with something deeper.
For a fleeting second, the boy wasn’t thinking about his mom. Or the funeral. Or the silence. He was watching a creature that didn’t know sadness. That only knew the joy of a breeze and the mystery of the ground. That night at dinner, he poked at his mashed potatoes and quietly asked, “Can we get a dog?”
His dad nearly choked on his bite. “A dog?” Jamie nodded. “A small one. I can take care of it. It doesn’t have to be expensive.” His dad looked at him — really looked. It was the most Jamie had said all week. Maybe all month. His eyes weren’t glowing, not yet, but they weren’t empty either. There was something flickering behind them. A spark.
“I don’t know, Jamie,” he said honestly. “Dogs are a lot. Food, medicine, vet bills… we’re barely managing as it is.” Jamie didn’t argue. He just said, “Okay,” and went to bed early. His father sat at the table long after he’d gone, staring at his plate, the weight of the world suddenly feeling a little heavier than usual.