Forty-Seven Honks

Then two weeks later he was cooking scrambled eggs specifically for the dog.

That became their rhythm.

Morning walks.

Newspapers.

Afternoon drives.

Evening television with Miss Penny’s head resting against his slippers.

But Dad had rules.

Always rules.

And one of the firmest involved the car.

“Dogs ride in the back,” he’d say every time I teased him about it.