Spark thumped his tail once. Thump.
And for a moment, she heard a tail thump.
Jenny didn’t scream or cry at first. She just lay beside him for a long time, her cheek pressed to his side, feeling the stillness. Then she sat up, wiped her eyes, and said, “Thank you.”
Her mother knelt beside her. “For what, sweetheart?”
Jenny smiled. She leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes.
Nine-year-old Jenny had a dog named Spark. Spark was a floppy-eared, tail-wagging mutt who had been with Jenny since the day she was born. He was old now, his muzzle gray, his walk a little stiff, but his eyes still sparkled when he looked at her.
Spark lifted his heavy head and licked the tears off her cheek. His tongue was soft, gentle, just like it had always been.
