Charlie had a red leash. Finn had a waggy tail. Every morning, Charlie held the red leash, and Finn wagged his waggy tail, and they walked down the sidewalk together.
That was how it always went.
But today was different.
Today, they were driving to Grandma's house. Finn was going to stay there for a whole week while Charlie's family went on a trip. Dad said Grandma had a big backyard. Mom said Finn would love it.
Charlie held the red leash tight.
Grandma's house smelled like cookies and soap. Finn pulled Charlie through the front door, his nails clicking on the wood floor. He sniffed the couch. He sniffed the rug. He sniffed Grandma's slippers and sneezed so hard his whole body shook.
"Well hello to you too!" Grandma laughed.
Finn found the kitchen. He found a water bowl with his name on it — FINN — in big blue letters. Grandma had painted it herself. He drank so fast that water sloshed all over the floor and all over his ears and all over Grandma's socks.
"Silly dog," said Charlie. But Charlie wasn't smiling.
Mom put Finn's bed by the window. Dad put Finn's food in the pantry. Grandma showed Charlie the big backyard with the fence and the shade tree and the soft grass.
"He'll have so much fun," said Grandma.
Charlie looked at Finn. Finn looked at Charlie.
Charlie's throat felt tight.
"Okay, buddy," said Dad. "Time to go."
Charlie knelt down. Finn pushed his warm nose right into Charlie's neck. He always did that. Every single time.
Charlie tried to say goodbye. But the word got stuck.
Instead, Charlie wrapped both arms around Finn's big soft middle. Finn's tail went still. Like he knew.
"One week," whispered Charlie. "That's seven sleeps."
Finn licked Charlie's ear. Then his cheek. Then his chin. Lick, lick, lick — so many licks that Charlie's whole face was wet and shiny.
"Ewww!" Charlie wiped his face. And then — a tiny laugh came out. Just a small one. But it was real.
Charlie stood up. The red leash was still in Charlie's hand. Charlie looked at it for a long time. Then, slowly, Charlie unclipped it from Finn's collar.
The leash felt light without Finn on the end.
Charlie put the leash in Grandma's hand. "He likes walks after breakfast," Charlie said. "And he pulls a little. But not in a mean way."
"I know just what to do," said Grandma. She looped the leash gently over the hook by the door.
In the car, Charlie pressed a hand against the window. Finn was in the yard now, standing at the fence, watching. His tail gave one slow wag.
Charlie waved.
Finn's tail wagged a little faster.
The car pulled away. Charlie watched Grandma's house get smaller and smaller. Charlie could still see Finn. Then just the fence. Then just the tree. Then nothing but road.
Charlie looked down at his hands. They were empty. No leash.
But in Charlie's pocket was something he'd forgotten about — a little tuft of golden fur, stuck to his jacket from that last hug.
Charlie held it in his palm.
Seven sleeps.
He closed his fingers around it and leaned his head against the window, watching the trees go by, already counting.
