A Home for Sam
It almost hurt to hear the laughter. Meg forced her eyes toward the window. With a little frown and a lump in her throat, she watched the two of them, Steven and Sam, standing a few yards apart in their tiny backyard. The boy grinned, bent down, hunched his shoulders, planted his feet firmly, and held out his arms. That was Sam’s cue to charge. Three years ago, when Sam was just a few pounds of floppy ears and wagging tail, he’d more often than not tripped over his own disproportionately large feet before Steven’s six-year-old arms could scoop him up. Now that Sam was one of the biggest Australian Shepherds they’d ever seen, too big even for Steven’s willing arms, her son had to be content with a fierce plop of front paws on the shoulders and a mad lick on the face at the end of Sam’s run. But the game had lost none of its magic. A boy and his best friend, forever linked by a bond of youthful exuberance, trust, and affection. ...