“Can I hang this somewhere?” Ed holds up his homemade poster for Tim to see.

With his hands busy restocking a display of Tom’s of Maine toothpaste, Tim gestures with his chin toward a small bulletin board matted with colored sheets of paper advertising a myriad of activities, yard sales, horses for lease, fund-raising events for the local elementary school and the library. “You’ll have to take something down.”

Ed studies the array before he removes a vintage sheet advertising a concert that took place last year. Commandeering the pushpin, Ed pokes it through the card stock of his sign. His poster is bigger than any of the others and shoves its shoulders across the one for the library bake sale and the one announcing a lecture on recycling coming up at the town hall. Maybe his poster is too big for the few words on it. He never did get a photo to add to the poster. Seemed like too much effort.

Ed takes down his sign and folds it so it’s smaller, then presses the pushpin, which has a broken top and is painful against his thumb. He sucks at the offended digit. Now no one will see his sign, obscured as it is by the clutter of other, more colorful messages. Ed takes his sign down again, scans the board for a better spot, and finally pins his found poster to the very edge, where it sticks out like a dull afterthought. He should have used colored markers.

Ed picks up a package of beef jerky. He doesn’t really want it, and will have to hide the evidence from Alice, but he thinks he really should buy something at Potter’s, given that he’s using the message board. Not that Tim looks like he’s concerned, but it’s the right thing to do and it’s right there, close at hand, and, face it, it’s a guilty pleasure.

As Ed gets back in the Cutlass, the dog is instantly alert and curious about the dried meat. “Oh, you want some, eh?” Ed shoves a piece in his mouth, relishing the salty taste. “It can’t be good for you. It’s not good for me.”

The dog sits in the passenger seat, ears forward, eyes fixed on Ed’s hand as it holds the greasy plastic sleeve, his little pink tongue licking at his lips in anticipation.

“How bad you want this?”

The dog is eloquent in his request. He gracefully sits up, dainty forepaws dangling in the air, his back neat against the seat, as if to say, How much more do I have to do to get you to give me a piece of that?

“Okay. Guess you earned this.” Ed breaks a piece off and holds it out to the dog. The dog takes the offering with a delicate gesture, no snapping up a treat for him.

“Now say thank you.”

And to Ed’s complete surprise, the dog does. A quick sharp bark and one paw held out to be shaken.