My man is taking me fishing. I always like that. We always like that.

I step out into the water, but I don’t run and splash. Not today. I sit and let the waves lap onto my chest. This is good.

I take a drink. The water is rich with colors and textures and scents. I even feel a few minnows as I swallow. Ah, this is good.

I fart. A few times. I do that a lot these days. My man doesn’t like it. It’s probably not good. But it makes me feel better.

I see the squirrel back there by the tree. I don’t chase it. Not today. Not anymore.

Soon it is time to leave. I don’t think my man caught any fish. He doesn’t seem to mind.

He opens the door of the pickup. I wait. He picks me up and helps me onto the seat.

The window is down. I rest my chin on the door. The breeze flaps my ears and dries my coat. I like the breeze.

I pull my head back in and look at my man. He smiles and scratches my neck. This is good.

I am tired. Soon I will rest. It will be good.

For my friend Andy DeLong, and his friend Blue.