Driving along Route 90, thinking of Mae and those serving in the military every time we passed a flag or red, white, and blue bunting still up after Independence Day, I was about to ask Goose about his time deployed overseas, when something else came out of my mouth. “Son of a f**k!”
We swerved. I lost control of the car or felt like I had. Somehow, we ended up in a ditch, though, instead of part of a tree or over the guardrail.
“f**k!” I didn’t raise my voice often, but it was warranted, now, as I grappled for Goose’s hand. “Everyone okay?”
“I am.” He glanced back toward Wilbur, who was barking up a storm, likely in response to my loudness. “You okay, buddy?”
The sound of Goose’s voice seemed to calm him immediately. Within an instant, he’d curled back up in his carrier.
“I think he’
