The side door opens with a rush of cold air. The dog, not party to previous conversations about college break, traffic, or logistics, leaps up. Tufts of white fur float into the air. Cloudy eyes brighten. He scrambles, claws across hardwood, old bones suddenly spry, snout snuffling my son’s body. The duffel is dropped to the floor and my son to his knees to better accept the unabashed fawning. Reveling in their reunion after months apart, I marvel at the changes, at the sameness. The dog’s tail beats to the joy in my heart. He speaks for both of us.
Jennifer Gallo Gaites is a writer from Fair Haven, New Jersey. She is a writing instructor at Project Write Now. jennifergaites.substack.com