10/27/2026
❤️🐾🌈
I found your ball in the garden today. Under the rose bush. Half buried, like it was trying to become part of the property.
Spring cleanup. Gloves on, head down, doing the brave little jobs you're supposed to do when you're "moving forward" — and there it was, grey where it used to be yellow, fuzz mostly gone, one seam split, dirt packed into your teeth marks like the earth had been keeping it safe for you.
You buried treasure all over this yard for eleven years. That was your system. Other dogs fetch. You invested. You'd take a brand-new ball, parade it once for the cameras, and then go bury it somewhere with the seriousness of a man hiding gold before a war. I used to find them with the mower and pretend I hadn't. It was your money. It wasn't my business.
This one I held for a long time.
The garden went very quiet, the way it does now. It used to have a soundtrack — you snuffling along the fence line, you sighing in the shade, you dropping a slobbery ball on my foot while I was wrist-deep in a flowerbed, saying, with your whole face: priorities.
I didn't wash it. I want that noted. The impulse came — clean it up, put it somewhere safe — and I just stood there with dirt on my gloves holding a disgusting old tennis ball like it was a newborn. Safe is a closet. Safe is a drawer. It doesn't belong in either. It belongs to the yard, the way you did.
So I set it on the porch rail. In the sun. In state. Retired, but visible. Decorated, but not displayed. Mine, but still yours.
Maybe there are more out there. Probably there are more out there — the hostas, the back corner, wherever your offshore accounts were. The garden will give them up one at a time, over years, whenever it decides I'm ready. I used to think of this yard as something I kept for you. Now I think you were keeping it for me. Stocking it. One ball at a time, against exactly this winter.
Because you always did have a return policy, even if it ran slow. And in the place you've gone, baby, I picture a garden with no fences and every ball you ever buried surfacing at once, the whole lawn gone treasure, and you standing in the middle of your fortune like a king who can't believe his luck.
And one day I'll come over that fence line with dirt on my hands, and you'll pick the best one — the grey one, the split one, my one —
and this time, this time, you'll drop it at my feet and let me throw it first. 🌈🐾