Wish

by Barbara O'Connor

“Every time you feel yourself starting to get mad, say ‘Pineapple.’” “Pineapple?” “Yeah.” “Why?” “That’ll be like a code word to remind yourself to simmer down. Mama taught my little brother Cotton to say ‘rutabaga’ every time he gets the urge to draw on the wall.” “Does it work?” “Sometimes.”

“You know what I like best about dogs?” Bertha said. Gus and I waited. “They love you no matter what.” Bertha smiled down at Wishbone. “Shoot, I know folks who are cranky or stuck up or bold-faced liars and their dogs love ’em like they’re saints or something. Know what I mean?” Gus nodded and said, “Yep.” “I hate to admit it,” Bertha went on, “but I bet half these cats of mine would run off and never look back if somebody came along with a can of sardines.”

“You can’t judge people for the mistakes they make. You judge them for how they fix those mistakes.”