Coming home

The road is more like a deer trail. It’s late at night and cold. 20 dogs in the warm truck backed up to the kennel.

Chris Stapleton is playing on the kennel radio. The local radio station plays in here all the time, even when we are away. It’s quiet and still in here and it feels like me and Stapleton are the only people left.

I’m filling up water dishes and putting down dog food. The day started early, doing chores and taking care of dogs. A long night at work and then back to Litchfield to load up the dogs for the two hour drive north. Since Lisa died I just can’t stay at that house anymore.

Leave the kennel doors open and start letting dogs out of the truck. They all run into the kennel. Except Buttercup. Thinks she’s a house dog and she never lets me forget.

Pack in my stuff and build a fire. That wood furnace is the heart of this big old house, pumping heat through it’s arteries out to the far corners.

With the fire going good Buttercup and me walk down and get the mail. It’s black dark, I ain’t much for yard lights and there’s no neighbors. The stars are bright, but there’s more stars behind them and more behind those, pretty much the whole sky is covered with stars. You just need to be out on a cold, clear, dark night to see it.

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