i am the only dog in the garden.

licking cider droplets from his nose.

is there an interloper? nah, it's just some horticulturistic girls.

dogs don't read signs, but then they don't need to.

i was taking to the gardener about when people are kind and open i open my face and smile at them, like fen turning his face to drink the sun like a flower.

he was so good, without a word he ate the grass between the beds.

for beulah shoesmith. if i get a dog of my own one day i might call her or him beulah. my grampa was a shoesmith. his hands like gnarled old soles.

sardonicus.

i'm still learning the charms of fen, for i'm slow, and he's abundant, like a well tended garden.

it was so calm, the sound of whispers and children playing, then two massive helicopters started hovering above and i said uh oh here come da thug.

on the way home fen stopped to savor the rest of a fresh local apple cider.

you sho nuf got that right.