“Do you remember when I learned to walk?” Jenny asked. “Mom says I used to hold on to your fur and you’d just stand there, so still, like a fuzzy statue.”
“I’m going to be ten soon,” she whispered. “That means I’ve known you my whole life.”
Her mother knelt beside her. “For what, sweetheart?”
They buried Spark under the old oak tree where he used to wait for Jenny’s school bus. Jenny planted yellow flowers—his favorite spot to nap in the sun had been by the yellow ones. 9yo jenny dog
Just once.
And for a moment, she heard a tail thump.
And then she felt it—a soft, warm weight against her leg. Not a ghost. Not a dream. Just a feeling, as real as sunshine: I’m still here. I always will be. “Do you remember when I learned to walk
One windy afternoon, Jenny sat under the oak tree. The yellow flowers had grown tall. She traced her fingers over the small wooden cross her father had made.
Spark thumped his tail once. Thump.
Nine-year-old Jenny had a dog named Spark. Spark was a floppy-eared, tail-wagging mutt who had been with Jenny since the day she was born. He was old now, his muzzle gray, his walk a little stiff, but his eyes still sparkled when he looked at her. “For what, sweetheart
“And remember the fort?” Jenny laughed softly. “I made a blanket tent in the living room, and you tried to come in, but you were too big, so you just stuck your nose through the gap.”
“I miss you,” she said.
Spark had loved the fort. He had loved the sound of Jenny’s heartbeat when she fell asleep against his side. He had loved the way she shared her crackers, always breaking off the smallest piece for herself and giving him the biggest.