My Children's Book: The Tale of Licorice Sugar

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright Glo Lewis 9/8/2023

 

Dear Readers of My Blog, 💚

 

I have decided to share my children’s book, The Tale of Licorice Sugar, with you. Here it is below (As usual, God bless, and I'll be in touch soon):

 

The Tale of Licorice Sugar

 

Copyright Glo Lewis 9/8/2023

 

 

   Calvin Childers leaned down from his rocking chair on the sagging porch and stroked the velvety head of the wolf-malamute resting near his feet. “Hey there, Dog. You’re a good man. We got to find you a proper home,” he said. It was fall in Portland, Oregon, but the feel of an early winter was already in the crisp air. Calvin shuddered from the cold. “I’m an old man, Dog. The Northwest winters make my bones ache. I need to move on-- Florida maybe, where it’s warm. I can’t take you with me, Dog. I got to make this last journey alone.” He tugged on the dog’s ear gently. “You understand, don’tcha, boy?” A chilly breeze whipped up from the east swirling fallen, mottled leaves and pine needles into haphazard patterns along the ground. Dog stared at the aged fellow intently with a worried look in his brown eyes. He yawned, and then Calvin yawned, their two dark mouths pointed upward and wide as wolves. Calvin could look mean, but Dog knew that he was kind. Calvin was wearing pants as grimy and gray as the porch. He was poor and lived with Dog in a disadvantaged section of town. Suddenly, the worn-out man chuckled, emitting a wheeze from his throat.

He reached into his tattered shirt pocket and retrieved a toothpick that he placed in his mouth to help him think. He rocked slowly back and forth in his rocking chair, contemplating Dog, his tired blue eyes fixed on the animal. “Look at that regal demeanor of yours and that fine black and white coat. You’re always so well dressed-- looks like you’re wearin’ a tuxedo. Why, you could go anywheres and be received in good company. You’re worthy of more than a ruined guy like me, livin’ in this rundown house.” He smiled wanly at Dog. “You can do better. I’ll see to it.”

   Dog ambled off toward the broken-slatted once-white wooden fence. He sat down in the dirt and looked at his timeworn master from a soulful place within his dark eyes.

   “That’s right. I’m talkin’ to you, Dog.” Calvin mumbled. “You’re my friend.”

   Elizabeth, Calvin’s older sister, who was visiting from Idaho, looked out the window glass of the house door where a torn curtain hung limply. Shortly, she opened the front door to the house, and came out onto the veranda wearing a faded lavender shawl. Her white hair fluttered like a fantail dove’s feathers in the gathering breeze. She wrapped the shoulder shawl tightly around her. “You should come inside now, Calvin,” she said, approaching him slowly, and raising her hand to touch his silver hair. He rebuffed her, pushing her hand away.

   “Reckon I should,” he said, closing his eyes in exhaustion, “but I don’t want to. I’ve got to think, to figure out what I’m going to do about Dog. He needs a lovely home.”

   “Worry about Dog tomorrow. It’s getting cold. Come inside now.” She turned and went back inside the house.

   Calvin sighed and rose from his rocking chair with earnest effort. He turned to Dog where he lay licking his paws in the dirt by the fence. “You got the heavy coat for it, boy. Go git the day,” he said, as though he meant ‘go seize the day,’ then opened the house door and closed it like velvet behind him, so as not to startle Dog.

   Dog felt great loneliness now, as he often did when worrying about the fate of his master. He stirred in the raw ground, his white and black coat bristling in the growing wind. He understood Calvin’s words, and even feared that the venerable boss was dying. He knew that Calvin could be irascible and difficult with others, but because he was always tender with Dog, he loved the old man with unswerving loyalty.

   The wolf-malamute had wandered up to Calvin’s house as a stray, more years ago than he could recall. His life before that had been hard, in part because he was such a big dog. A veterinarian had weighed him some time back at a shelter, and Dog, so large that an agricultural scale was required to weigh him, had registered at a strapping 165 pounds. Though he was as gentle as he was big, Dog had come to understand, in his travels in years past while in search of a permanent home, that few people wanted a dog so large. He knew how fortunate he was that Calvin had given him a home.

   On this day, he took the chief’s advice and wandered off to enjoy the afternoon. He knew the route to a picturesque neighborhood, and he proceeded along that course. After walking for some time, he came to the area of town that had big, leafy elm trees spilling their yellowed leaves out over wide streets. Here children played on skates and skateboards, and rode on shiny bicycles in a myriad of colors, including red, blue, fuchsia, and sea green, with metallic surfaces that glinted in the fading silvery sunlight.

   The children rushed to run their little hands over Dog’s thick coat of hair. Dog laid down and waited, his paws out ahead of him, enjoying the attention. Suddenly, a small girl straddled him in hopes of a grand ride as though Dog were an amusement park pony. “Giddy yap, giddy yap, horsy!” she hollered, her round face glowing with glee. This kind of thing happened often. Dog knew just what to do: He rolled onto his side and waited patiently for the youngster to dismount. “Please, horsy, go!” the child implored, tugging at Dog’s thick mane. Dog refused to budge, and the girl eventually gave up and slid off him. She wrapped her arms around Dog’s big neck and gave him a good-bye hug.

   Two teenagers were playing street basketball. “Hey, check out the huge dog,” one said.

   “That’s just Dog,” the other boy replied. “Everyone around here knows him. He’s cool. Just pet him. He’ll let you.” He rubbed Dog’s head. “You chillin’, boy?” The other teen was cautious, but in a moment, he patted Dog. “Catch you later, Dog,” the second boy said and threw the basketball to his friend. Dog could hear them laughing and bouncing the ball as they moved quickly about the area under the net. He continued his excursion.

   The avenues were a carnival of color and excitement. I love this! I’m having fun now, thought Dog. He sniffed the air, the grass, the curb. He set down his scent as often as possible, as any self-respecting animal will, he assured himself. He ate a few flowers. They’re in season, he reckoned, just as he had heard Calvin reckon” about this or that.

   Presently, Dog observed the boxer, Ginger, pulling her petite, dark-haired mistress, who was forced to keep up by running behind her pet. “Ginger, slow down, will you?” the woman shouted, her sneakers hitting hard at the pavement.

   Dog kept on walking. After a time, the German shepherd, Cleaver, ran by with a seal point Siamese cat named Mr. Chan hanging upside down at his chest, claws embedded and brutalizing. Rumor had it that Mr. Chan could straddle a toilet and use it just as a man would. However, this was idle gossip, and Dog was not sure that it was credible information; still, he liked the idea and when bored, sometimes turned it over in his mind like a meaty bone, wondering if it were indeed possible for a cat to do such a thing.

   Cleaver, the German shepherd, had taken to waiting on a corner on Sunday mornings for the children in his household to return from church. Occasionally, Dog spent time together with Cleaver and waited with him, but today was not Sunday. Besides, Cleaver had not even nodded at Dog. Dog understood, however, in that Cleaver was running with a cat on his body.

   Soon Dog wandered over to Corky’s house. Corky, a tan Chihuahua, greeted him with fierce barking from atop the sofa at a bay window inside the front room. He doesn’t seem glad to see me, Dog concluded with growing irritation at these poor manners. The whites of Corky’s nervous, vigilant eyes rolled like marbles in his small head, and the hair on his back stiffened into golden needles. Some friend! Giving me “the white eye.” What a nerve! bristled Dog. He returned the disgruntled look and walked on.

   After he had tramped a few more blocks, Dog came across a large orange and white longhaired female cat standing on the lawn outside of a charming home. “What’s going on with you, Dog?” inquired the cat.

   “I’m just out for a stroll,” Dog replied. He paused and reflected. “You know my name,” he observed and sauntered across the lawn to stand next to the cat.

   “Your gentlemanly reputation for letting cats go their way precedes you,” the cat stated flatly, then licked her paws with interest, paying special attention to one toe.

   “Glad it’s appreciated,” said Dog. “What’s your name?”

   “Herman.” She gave him a green-eyed gaze.

   “That’s an unlikely name for a girl cat,” Dog remarked, sniffing Herman briefly.

   “I know; it’s different,” said Herman. “But what do I care when I’m getting hots, cots, and kids?”

   “You mean three hot meals and a bed?” asked Dog.

   “Of course that’s what I mean,” Herman said and sniffed. “But my way of saying it was edgier, don’t you think?”

   “I do think,” Dog said. “So how did you come by the name, ‘Herman’?” he asked.

   “My mistress is a girl of around eight. She mistakenly assumed that I was a boy when a nearby resident pressed her for my owner’s name. ‘That’s my friend’s cat,’ she lied, then promptly took me to her address here. I needed a home, so I was grateful that she was there. Herman flared her whiskers excitedly now. “I guess it was quite a surprise when I gave birth to my four kittens in a closet of her house!” she exclaimed. “That was a long night, I can tell you. I was panting furiously, reclined on a towel. Two of my boys are twin orange kittens. My mistress calls them ‘the Herman twins.’ Sometimes, she and her sister feed all four of my kittens with a little doll bottle that’s full of milk. My kittens love it!” Suddenly, Herman’s kittens crawled out from under the porch of the house. They hissed and spat at Dog and skittered away on paws furred with lightning. Dog smiled then, his red tongue moving breezily like a man’s tie from his gaping mouth.

   He pressed his nose down, scavenging for lost treats. “Nice visiting with you. I’d better be off,” he said finally. Herman waved her large, fluffy tail and crawled under the house. “Fluent feline,” Dog whispered under his hot breath.

   Dog considered it quite good fortune when, on occasion, he came across a child’s dropped Sidewalk Sundae ice cream bar-- vanilla with fudge in the center-- Dog’s favorite, or sometimes an apple core, an abandoned piece of chewed gum, or bits of candy dropped from some unsuspecting child’s pocket. The vet had long ago advised that he should avoid sweets, as they were bad for his canine teeth. Chocolate, in particular, he knew was dangerous for a dog and could cause illness or even death. Yet, such delightful edibles represented some of the honeyed moments that Dog lived for. He rationalized that because he was big, he could adhere to the old axiom: “everything in moderation.” In any case, these finds tended to happen during the blue flame of warm summer months, not now, when days were bleak, and an early winter wind whistled nearby with the scent of rain in the distance.

   Dog had recently befriended two mixed-breed dogs that showed mostly the markings of German shepherds. He came upon them now. The older dog, Rowdy, was tan in color, with a darkly masked face, while the little guy, Rocky, also black and tan, was a chubby puppy. They lived with a black cat named Fuzzy. As Dog approached, the canines appeared to be tormenting Fuzzy. Each dog held one end of the cat in its mouth. Together, they were shaking Fuzzy wildly. Dog watched as neighbors came running to rescue the cat. To Dog’s amazement, however, Fuzzy, no sooner freed from the clutches of the dogs’ mouths, raced back to engage them to shake him again. Fuzzy apparently loved to be stupefied this way. Dog shook his head with amused astonishment at this great show and loped past the theatrics of it. Sometimes, if you got lucky, he realized, you saw impromptu street theatre like this.

   Sometimes, Dog would hear people chatting, but he did not always understand the nuances of their conversation. Now he heard a well-dressed blonde-haired woman complaining to her neighbor that the housekeeper, on a recent visit, had left her a note. “It said, ‘I cleaned the buffet; it was filthy.’ She underlined filthy. Can you imagine? I thought, isn’t that what I’m paying her for-- to clean the filthy buffet and such? Certainly not to shame me for it!” Then the two women laughed heartily. “You know what they say: You just can’t get good help these days!” she lamented. Dog could not make sense of the exchange, and until the women laughed, he was not sure if they might argue or get along. He wished that he understood more about the dialogue of humans. He tended to register their meaning or intent more from their tone of voice, although he had lived many years and knew numerous words in the English language, and a few in Spanish and French.

   He crossed the street. A Hispanic woman with an orange scarf tying her dark hair back raked the leaf-strewn lawn of her corner house. She looked up from her working and called out to him, “Como va, perro grande?” (How goes it, big dog?) Dog nodded and continued into the growing afternoon wind.

   After a time, a boisterous French American boy, who lived in a house down a lazily wandering lane ran after Dog. He threw his arms around Dog’s thick neck and cried, “Je t’aime.” (I love you.)

   With all this attention, it seemed obvious to Dog that people were fond of him. Yet, no one offered him a home, and Calvin had made it clear that Dog’s days with him were now limited. Who can replace Calvin? Dog wondered worriedly. Who will give me a home? He felt disheartened, thinking about this turn of events. It had taken so much out of him in the past, with the constant journeying, just to find Calvin. Now, this safe chapter was coming to a sad end, it seemed. Dog trotted onward, systematically sniffing the grass and the gusts and blasts of air. He had his pride, he reasoned. He would not go about imploring folks for a loving home like an orphan on display, hoping for a family. He would leave the matter up to the old man.

   In the growing darkness, the streets gradually emptied of people and animals. Dog headed for home. To lift his spirits, he reminded himself that Calvin had called him “a good man.” Dog recollected that once, he, Dog, had rescued a baby from a burning building in a back alley. How many canines can lay claim to that? he praised himself, finding it soothing to bask in his accomplishments. He remembered the whole scene:  He had heard the baby squalling and had seen the wide black plumes of smoke and ash, and the fierce rubied heart of the great saffron flames. He then raced up the metal fire escape, following the sound of the infant’s cries, his paws burning from the intense heat. He plunged through the glass side window, tearing the skin under his great coat. Wheezing and scared, believing that he might not make it out alive, he had nevertheless persisted through the dingy rooms, crawling along the edge of the carpeting, until he found the baby who had fallen off the sofa. She appeared to be alone in the apartment. Dog picked her up gently, wrapping his wet mouth around her tiny abdomen while the child, clad only in a diaper, flailed its arms and legs. Dog ran with her then for both of their lives, exiting the building as the great sucking throat of the fire lunged at them from all sides. He dropped the baby lightly on the grass by the curb as fire engines arrived. He wandered off then unceremoniously into the day, leaving the trail of his mysterious heroism uncelebrated. The following day, the city paper told the tale, however, its headlines proclaiming: “Infant Saved from Raging Fire-- but By Whom?”

   Now Dog arrived back at the old house. He trotted up onto the porch and waited for Calvin and dinner.

***

   In a few short months, the last gasps of fall gave way to winter. Elizabeth left, and Calvin and Dog were alone once again. The streets, silenced under a quilt of foot-printed snow, cast eerie silhouettes in the lamplight. Now Calvin spent much time indoors. Dog, left to his own devices, roamed the roads and watched children play on sleds and snowboards. By twilight each evening, the streets were mostly abandoned now, however, except for an occasional passerby, invariably well bundled up in thick clothing. During this season, long slabs of ice, dirtied by traffic, fallen leaves, and other debris, lined the gutters, waxing and waning with the various turns in the weather. Dog sniffed the curbs with growing disdain. The giant trees, their gnarled limbs naked, moaned and groaned like old men he’d seen shuffling along park pathways and disappearing into shadows.

   Dog meandered down the middle of the roadway. He gingerly alternated the worn pads of his paws, favoring each of his arthritic legs, as he ventured forth into these white streets. The powder would not last long in Portland; it never did. It was a fleeting surprise. Surely, Dog assured himself this day, there will be someone in one of these houses to show me some affection, some precious child with a loving heart to hold me. He tried his best to straighten up his tired torso—to look vibrant.

   He pressed his snout into the frosty air and opened his mouth to display his still-bright teeth. It was the best smile that he could muster, and his red tongue swayed like a flapping flag as he panted under the warmth of his dense winter coat. The chill whistled through his jowls and made them ache like his yearning. Passing motorists, busy postal workers, and even children preoccupied with building snowmen, ignored him. After some time, this day ended as most other days now, with him returning to his barren, paint-chipped breezeway.

   Eventually, there came a frigid night when Dog struggled for warmth, stirring restlessly on the wind-whipped porch. His big bones banged loudly against the planks of the house. He rose and fell back, hoping to awaken Calvin, who nevertheless slept the deep sleep of the unwell, wrapped up in his bed inside the house. Dog buried his great head in his white paws, folding into the heat of his own body. The blast blew from the arctic unceasingly, however. Soon, Dog could not endure the cold any longer. He summoned his strength and went in search of better cover. Nearly blinded by blowing snow, he hopped along on frozen feet, pressing himself farther into the wind. He struggled against the elements, finally reaching his favorite neighborhood where so many children lived, and where the majestic trees now absent their glorious leafy canopy still stretched high above the twinkling lights of houses.

   A girl of almost ten, who was unable to sleep, happened to be looking out her bedroom window. She saw old Dog and immediately cared that he should be out in such terrible weather. She raced from her room with eyes bright as nonpareils. Her slender form glided silently past the bedroom where her parents slept unawares and down the staircase to the front entryway. She then threw open the door and called into the howling tempest, “Here doggie. Here doggie, doggie,” as her flowing hair, blown back by the force of the gale, swirled behind her like a lush, brown corduroy cape.

   Dog, growing desperate, and his warm heart fading fast in the blizzard, heard the solicitous voice of the eager, young girl who seemed to know his name. With a great force of will, he determined to make it to her doorway as the wild storm bore down on him. When at last he arrived, he was covered with snow and ice and shivering uncontrollably.

   The child threw her arm around Dog’s neck and escorted him into her house. She raced up the stairs and returned shortly to dry Dog’s coat by rubbing him briskly with towels. “You’re okay now,” she whispered. “You’re handsome, aren’t you? And a lot of doggie.” She led him up the stairs to her bedroom and guided him up onto her bed whose springs squeaked under Dog’s weight. After she covered his body with blankets, she wrapped her arms around Dog’s neck until he stopped shaking.

   “It’s alright now,” she said in a hushed tone. “My name is Sky. I’m going to take care of you. That’s a good boy.” She caressed Dog’s damp face and looked into his eyes. “What’s your name, I wonder?” She put her small hands into his mane and searched for a collar with a nametag. “No collar,” she noted, perplexed. After a moment she said, “You are as sweet as licorice and sugar. That’s what I’ll call you-- Licorice Sugar. You can stay with me tonight. Maybe my parents will let me keep you-- I hope. I hope.” The girl and Licorice Sugar fell asleep next to each other, with Sky’s long hair draping over Dog’s magnificent face.

   After that terrible, bittersweet night, Licorice Sugar visited the little girl named Sky every chance he got, licking her face and hands, and fetching Frisbees for her in his slow, loping way, while her parents looked on approvingly. These extraordinary days would always end the same way, with Sky and Licorice Sugar both feeling sad because he had to go home to Calvin’s house. Of course, Dog loved Calvin, but it seemed to him that Calvin’s health was waning sharply. The old man ventured outside to feed Dog daily, or to rock for a time in his porch chair. Mostly, however, Calvin was gone, tucked away in his bed in the house, as far as Dog could surmise. It was clear that Calvin did not have the energy for spending time outdoors with Dog.

   Sky assumed that Licorice Sugar had a bad home because he spent so much time with her. On one occasion, she followed him, and observed the raggedy, sagging porch with its chipped paint and old rocking chair. She saw the torn curtain in the dirty window and the grizzled old man who lived in the house.

   One bright day, Sky summoned her courage and walked to the dilapidated house alone. She stood haltingly by the broken fence before she found the courage to speak to the old man who was rocking back and forth in his porch chair. “Mister, could I have your dog?” she asked, her small red sneakers kicking at the dirt nervously, but her brown eyes wide with intent.

   Calvin reached slowly into his shirt pocket and fished out a toothpick. He sucked on the piece of wood, never once slowing the sway of his chair while he considered this unusual request, which was an unexpected gift. If I wrangle proper, I might git Dog a loving home before I go, he reasoned. Mustn’t give him up too easily, though. Girl’s got to see the value in my friend. Got to play a twisted game with the gal. But it’s all for Dog, and dog for all, and must be done, he chanted within his mind, musing.

   Sky waited patiently, glancing now and then at Licorice Sugar, who lay on the elderly man’s graying porch. She checked her composure, which was considerable for a girl her age. She sensed that she should not look too eager as the old man’s chair creaked back and forth, and he assessed her from behind narrowed eyes hooded by great bushy and silvered brows. A cool breeze stirred, and Ravens, crying out like gulls, fluttered in their black funereal garb up onto electric power lines until they were seated horizontally like Supreme Court Justices or grave members of a grand jury. They leaned their dark beaks forward, sometimes cocking their heads, rapt with attention, as though a great trial were commencing, and they didn’t want to miss a word.

   The wolf-malamute made a whistling noise from his nose that sounded like “please,” so eager was he to go with Sky. Immediately, however, he hung his head, filled as he was with loyalty for Calvin and sorrow about leaving the old man, who had saved him and been so good to him, all alone. Dog felt terribly conflicted between his love for Calvin and his budding but passionate devotion to Sky.

   The small satchel of the old man’s wrinkled lips was pursed with a wealth of intent. He estimated the dog, and then the girl, the girl, and again the dog. His bones seemed to him to crackle back and forth with the snap of the rocker. Several minutes passed with the tension as great as a mousetrap.

   Even from the fence, Sky could see that the old man’s blue eyes held a fading fire that alternately gleamed wildly and filmed over. He squinted into the bleached winter sun. “Why should I?” he replied at last, twirling the toothpick between his withered fingers while Dog groaned at his master’s crusty reply.

   “What do you mean?” asked Sky.

   Calvin coughed, bent over, spat, his face flushing and swelling like a red balloon with the effort. At last, he said, “What do I mean? I mean, why should I give you this dog? What you got to give me-- to make it worth my while?”

   Sky stood up straight and stared at Calvin; her brow creased with confusion. “I don’t understand,” she said.

   The old man leaned forward in his chair. “It’s simple as pie, girl!” he cried. “You got nothin’ from what I see, but you want my dog here. So I’ll ask you again, nice. Why should I give you my dog? What do I get fer the dog? See now? That’s real simple. You want the dog. What you going to give me in return?” He sat back roughly, the chair wobbling, looking satisfied with himself and rotating his toothpick.

   The Ravens on the lines opened their beaks and squawked as if to inquire, “What’s that you say?” In the distance, a dog barked intermittently. The air smelled of pine and distant snow.

   Sky ground her teeth absently, the way that she had seen her father do when he was distressed. She moved her lips back and forth and marveled at this turn of events. She had assumed that getting Licorice Sugar would be easy because it seemed clear to her that the old man did not care about him. Now, however, she had to rethink her approach. She held onto the fence, pushing and pulling forward and back on her feet: toes, heels, toes, heels, unconsciously mimicking the old man’s rocking chair. Her sneakers looked amazingly red in the bath of sunshine. “My shoes!” she said triumphantly. “You can have my shoes!” She was delighted with herself.

   “What do I need with a pair of kids’ shoes?” Calvin sneered.

   A small brown robin flew down from a nearby tree and plucked a worm from the dirt. He choked it down, lurched forward as if suddenly intoxicated, and staggered off.

   Sky studied her sneakers, deflated but not defeated. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t want these. But you could sell them.” She felt elated at her sudden shrewdness.

   “I don’t think so,” said Calvin. “I’m tired now. Go away. Go away. Come back some other day,” he sang softly in his low, gravelly voice. He looked off into the distance and seemed to Sky to drift away, his chair undulating.

   “Please, Mister. I’ll do anything. My parents will give you money. How much would you want for the dog?”

   “He’s not for sale, Missy. And I ain’t giving him way, neither. Now scram, I said.” He closed his eyes.

   Sky did not move. She was silent for several minutes, contemplating the hoary man while he rocked in his chair. “I bet if you were a dog, you’d want someone to love you and give you a good home.”

   Calvin opened his eyes. “You still here? Don’t you listen? Don’t you give up? Dog’s mine, not yours. He stays here.” The old man leaned into his chair, remote as twilight.

   “I could clean your yard, your porch, your whole house even. Mister, won’t you please let me have your dog?”

   Calvin felt an abrupt tiredness. It was a splendid trick—pretending to be cantankerous, but he acknowledged to himself that the girl had worn him down. He had worked hard all his life and appreciated determination when he saw it. “What’s your name, girl?”

   “Sky Harrison.” She looked at Licorice Sugar with longing.

   “Your parents know you’re doing this?”

   “Yes, they want me to have your dog. He comes over to our house all the time.” She clung to the fence now as one would to a robe on a wintry morning, wrapping her arms through the wide slats.

   “Yeah, sure. Go on then. Take my Dog.” He looked down but said suddenly, “He deserves a lot better than I can provide.” He nudged Dog gently in the hindquarters with his slippered foot, and then pitched his chair forward.

   Dog stood, and licked Calvin’s hand and then his face.

   “You come back and see Calvin, before I leave, you hear, Dog?” said the old man.

   Licorice Sugar nodded.

   “Thank you, Mister,” said Sky, grinning jubilantly. She patted a hand against her leg. “Come here, boy.”

   Licorice Sugar strode over to her. Sky threw her arms around the wolf-malamute’s big neck and hugged him with joy. She and Licorice Sugar turned to leave. Calvin’s eyes filled with tears. “Take care of my good man, you hear?”

“I will, Mister, and we’ll come by to visit you.”

   Sky brought her dog home to stay at last. Her parents greeted them at the door and knelt, arms held out in a wide embrace of their Sky, and her dog, Licorice Sugar, delighted that he was now a member of their family.

 

The End