moose and modere accompanied me again to the coffee house.
i actually felt less tense, my ex was leaving, and i finally felt at ease.
we went to the park where moose trained and played at with other service dogs. they came in all sizes. moose was the tiniest one.
modere told me about what he did and what he likes to do. his choices not limited by his impairment.
"i love to paint. i use braille to represent the colors on the painting. when you run your finger against it, you can actually imagine what the painting looks like."
"wow," i sat next to him on a bench, overlooking the training of the service dogs. we shared cup of ice cream.
"once," he licks his spoon, holds it there for a minute, then removes it, "I painted what i thought the sky looked like after a rainy day at sunset."
i imagine too.
"did anyone see it?" i ask scooping a large portion of my side of the cup.
"no, i seemed to misplace the painting."
"i can help you find it,"
YOU ARE READING
broken eyes
Short Story"his eyes were a light shade of blue, almost grey, like his eyes were what sadness feels like. "
