You see these small roadside memorials occasionally. This one was a white cross with silk flowers tattered by blowing rains, a frayed ribbon, a dog’s collar.
She was Abby. Her dog was Rex.
The drunk, just out of rehab, was leaving another bar, squinting woozily as I pulled the trigger.
Jim Purdy is a retired engineering manager who lives in Oregon and spends his day with his faithful dog who never gives him disparagement. She wags her tail as he reads her whatever he has just written.