The "whatevers" were getting to me. I was seeing the child who adored me slowly turn into a teenager. I couldn't stop the process, but how could I keep my sanity? I began wearing my i-pod everywhere, retreating to the back-yard porch swing to read to the dog when my son came home from school, and then slowly shrugging my shoulders when he asked me what time dinner would be ready.
Some days he'd bounce on the old trampoline a few times before heading in the house to find his cellphone or blast Metallica, but most days he looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. Who reads to a dog?
Read the rest of this tale in Open Water
Reading to the Dog