Handsome Boy, Handsome dog

 I found it the other day—tucked inside a drawer where Emma keeps all the things that make her heart tug. It’s an old photo, slightly curled at the edges.

There we were: me, Joel, and Chewy at Marott Park on a golden summer afternoon.

Chewy looked thrilled, of course. He always loved the water—charging in like it was his personal ocean, tongue out, paws splashing, ears flying back like he was built for it. He was soaked and ecstatic, chasing ripples like they were squirrels.

And me?
Well… I was dry. Happily dry.

Joel was holding me in his arms, cradled against his chest like I was royalty. I remember that moment—his arms strong and sure, my paws dangling mid-air, not even close to the river. That’s how I liked it. I don’t care what Chewy said—getting wet is overrated.

Behind us, Marott Park stretched out in all its green summer glory. The tall trees swayed gently, casting those long, dappled shadows across the sand. The river was calm that day—one of those smooth, glassy flows that made the whole world feel like it was exhaling. The edges of the water looked like a little beach, and the sun made everything feel warm and good.

I could smell wild grass and river rocks.
I could hear birdsong and the faint splash of Chewy doing laps.
I could feel Joel’s heartbeat against my back.

It was one of those perfect days.
The kind that sticks to your fur and your memory.
And as I looked at that picture, I missed it—but I also felt it all over again.

Woof (soft and sentimental),
Peanut