The pup, Mr. Buttons, helping me write. Well, sort of.
He keeps my toes warm on cold days. When the rejections come, and they have, he never utters a word. Instead, wiggles his tail, assuring me my prose pass muster.
At least with him.
“I’m king of the world!
I felt that way sailing in Nova Scotia with Marc tethering my waist. The breeze easy, the air crisp, we spotted eagles, drifted past estates tucked in the forest, lonely lighthouses. Let’s go again!
