Chapter 9 - SCOUT’S LAST SUMMER
Scout became famous inside our family.
Not online.
Never again.
Every Christmas, Uncle Peter told the story about Scout retrieving the phone.
Grandma always corrected him.
“He did not retrieve evidence. He stole Mia’s phone because the strap smelled like peanut butter.”
Possibly true.
Scout lived three more years.
He slowed down.
His face turned white.
One summer afternoon, I sat beside him in Grandma’s yard.
He rested his head on my leg.
I was sixteen.
Theo was four.
He barely remembered the birthday.
Thank God.
He knew Scout had “helped us.”
That was enough.
When Scout died that fall, Dad came to Grandma’s house.
He asked permission first.
We buried Scout beneath a maple tree.
No phones.
No video.
No post.
Just us.
Dad cried.
Theo placed a tennis ball beside the grave.
I put the old phone strap there.
Grandma said:
“That dog never knew what he did.”
I smiled.
“Maybe that made him the most trustworthy person there.”
Dad laughed sadly.
May you like
He did not argue.
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