The cookie jar is not on the counter.

I have checked twice. The space where it lived holds only the memory of ceramic and the faint scent of beef flavored wafers. Dad sits at his desk with papers spread like fallen leaves, muttering numbers that don’t add up the way kibble does. April 15th arrives every year with the same gray, bringing rain that taps against windows like questions nobody wants to answer.

The trails at Good Dog Park will be empty today. Everyone stays inside when the sky decides to leak, which means no other dogs, no people with treats in their pockets, just the wet silence of a Wednesday that forgot how to be cheerful. Even the squirrel hasn’t bothered with the deck.

Gus found the backup jar in the studio twenty minutes ago. I heard the ceramic lid, the rustle of Dad’s chair, the small negotiations that happen when taxes meet basset hounds. Some days require extra cookies. This feels like one of them.

#pawscarwilde #rainywednesday