And now it was November.
I awoke to the song of the wind chimes dancing in a brisk breeze, and I was alarmed for a moment before I remembered the hurricane danger was over.
“It’s just a plain old gale of November, right, Sum?” I said.
“Woof,” said Summer.
“That’s right,” I said, a little sadly. “You’re just a dog again.”
She tilted her head as if to say, “What do you mean, just a dog?” I laughed and rubbed her head, then I wrapped her in a big morning bear hug.
Summer squirmed free and ran to the patio door, where Dejah was already whining.
“I know, old dog, what took me so long?” I said, sliding the door open. The 11-year-old dashed outside and down the steps to the yard, and I stepped outside. Summer, as usual, hesitated just inside the house.
I laughed and stretched my arms out.
“Oh, come on, Sum,” I said. “It’s a good day to have a good day! And the worblatts are gone, there are leaves all over the ground to play in, and we’ll probably never spot him but there’s a dragon around here somewhere watching over the land.”
At that, the 3-year-old’s ears perked up, and she came outside and ran down the stairs. She looked back up at me.
I sighed. “I’ll be right down, girl.”
Stepping back into the house briefly, I grabbed two or three supermarket plastic bags out of the pantry, brought them out and closed the patio door. I walked down to the yard and grabbed the pooper scooper.
Her business finished, Dejah went up and lay down at the top of the stairs to enjoy the morning while I policed the yard and Summer did zoomies in the sun.
