Quincy’s Sneaky Yard Parade — Behind the fence, glue smelled sharp and the morning grass tickled Quincy’s paws. Read the full story →
Behind the fence, glue smelled sharp and the morning grass tickled Quincy’s paws. He had just invented Yard Parade, a game where the winner was the dog who made the fanciest parade costume from ordinary things. With no other dogs in sight, Quincy tied a napkin into a bandana, drew wobbly stars on it, and clipped on a heart tag made from a candy wrapper. His tail thumped: thud, thud, thud.
He strutted past the doghouse three times, adding rules as he went. One point for sitting straight. Two points for heroic ear flops. Five points for not chewing the costume before judging. “Announcing Sir Quincy of the Sparkly Neck!” he barked, trying to sound like a trumpet and getting spit on his nose.
Then the doghouse answered with a soft clack. From the dark doorway rolled three acorns, a feather, and a button, pushed out by a very small turtle wearing a leaf on its head. Quincy blinked. His doghouse had been a judging booth all along. He placed the feather in his bandana and bowed so low his tag bonked the dirt. Next time you see those stars at his neck, check whether one tiny judge is still hiding in the shade, listening for thud, thud, thud.
