I take the top off his carrier. He doesn't want to come out, sits defiant and pissed off and for that I am grateful. I know every bolt that keeps this carrier together, have memorized how it feels to unscrew them. I've done it enough. I've done it too much. They will come in soon. We wait together. "I'm sorry," I say. I don't know if I'm telling him or myself.
I'm a writer and storyteller in Berkeley, CA. If you're wondering where that is, follow the smell of patchouli and skunkweed. There you'll find me with my kickass husband, gorgeous little boy, and manic Lab-Australian Shepherd mix pups. I'm represented by Miriam Altshuler of DeFiore & Co., but of course, my views are my own.