The Ball

It’s quiet out on the ranch.
I bounce an old, ragged tennis ball on the porch.
Thump.
Thump.
It’s Jake’s ball. For seventeen years, since he was a puppy.
I’d throw it.
He’d chase it and bring it back.
He never chased sticks or other things.
Just this ball.
Thump.
Thump.
Maybe he didn’t chase it as fast as he once did. Everybody slows down.
He slept a lot.
Here on the porch.
On the driveway.
I never saw him that night.
Thump.
Buried him out back.
I should have buried this ball with him.
But it’s mine, too.
Thump.