We lived on Brush Hill Road, across town, on the street where I grew up. Flash was alive, then, our first family dog, our first lab. My parents were alive and lived up the road at #44 and we would walk through the woods, wet like today, and Flash would lead the way over the sodden leaves, through prickers, a shortcut we had to take, and my mother's dog, Abby, would be in the yard barking because Flash and Frances were coming to play. Like most great dogs, Flash, was an ideal listener. If you curled up beside him on the floor, matched your breathing to his at rest, he could hear everything you didn't say.

All text and photos copyright Kelly DuMar 2017