61. The Dog

We took our dog to that always empty place outside of town and unclipped his leash.

Our father said, “Go on.”

At an old, broken fence (we never understood what the fence had ever enclosed–“Pasture, maybe, or some settler’s yard,” our mother guessed), our dog stopped and looked back at us with an expression too distant to interpret.

“Do you think he’ll follow us home?” our father asked.

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