When a Scruffy Little Dog Refused to Let an Old Woman Disappear

We walk down Main Street together, past the bakery and the laundromat and the post office that knows us by name.

Outside the diner, his bench waits, blanket folded, sign slightly crooked.

Sometimes, there’s a line.

Sometimes, there’s just one person, pretending to check their messages while they wait for the courage to sit down.

Either way, Barnaby hops continue reading …