I wagged my tail every time she chuckled.

 Last night, my human was upset and she called Joel. He picked up, and she started laughing again. That’s what she does—turns her pain into jokes. I wagged my tail every time she chuckled. That sound? That’s the sound of her trying to stay alive.

 My human might joke, but she doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She just wants truth—and maybe a little justice. 

But here’s what I know:
She’s trying.
To be honest.
To be kind.
To stay soft while still protecting herself.

She’s angry, and she has every right to be. A small pup wouldn’t survive what she did. moving so many times,  new mothers, new siblings, new grief every time she blinked. She’s lived a whole pack’s worth of lives before she even became an adult.

This morning, it sounded like rain in the backyard, but nothing hit my fur. The tree above us is good like that—it holds the drops, even if it does drop squirrel poop now and then. We sat out there for a while. That’s our spot. The garden she loves, where flowers push through the dirt and remind her that beauty doesn’t care what happened yesterday.

Yesterday was packed. We did our morning perimeter check of the park, where I supervise branch-moving operations. (She does the dragging. I do the directing.) Then she went swimming. She says it’s like meditation. I just know she comes back smelling like chlorine and calm. She said she saw  her old boss there—the one who smells like cologne and leaves a trail in the pool like a scent-marking manatee.

After swimming, she picked up my food from Becky’s (thank goodness) and whacked weeds in her bathing suit like a wild forest fairy. She also worked on her scrapbook—June pages. 

We walked at sunset—well, no sun, just clouds. But we went anyway. Then we watched Orange Is the New Black.  She’s going to see Judy tonight to craft. (I love Judy. She smells like snacks.)

Emma is building something new every single day. Out of jokes, and pain, and pop cans, and petunias.

She’s doing just fine.
I’m proud of her.

—Peanut 🐾