Dogs, Burgers, and Borrowed Stardust
Sawyer—Sam’s five‑month‑old Labradoodle, all cinnamon curls and improbable courage—hit Ackerman Dog Park like a bottle rocket. Lizzie and I had barely claimed a bench when a tan, block‑headed brute tried to turn playtime into demolition derby. Two collisions, one collective whimper, and the bully was ushered off‑stage. The air stilled; Sawyer shook the dust from his ears, looking every bit the hero who survives Act I.
We celebrated at Heavy’s Barburger, fryer oil wafting like holy incense. At the next table gathered a quartet of prom‑bound aspirants: sleek black tux, violet glitter gown with amethyst freckles under her eyes, gold‑brocade jacket loud enough to have its own soundtrack, and a bubble‑gum‑pink suit punctuated by double thumbs‑up. They leaned over wobbling picnic boards, sipping iced tea and trading futures, twilight catching rhinestones, gilded lapels, and confetti bow‑tie threads.
Sawyer curled beneath our table, Lizzie stole a fry, Sam raised her glass, and the evening found its equilibrium: a dust‑cloud sprint across the dog park, a cheeseburger benediction, and four teenagers dressed like possibility itself. Some days infinity is small enough to fit between a dog’s heartbeat and the click of a shutter—prom kids, puppies, and cameras all focusing on the bright road ahead.
