Myra was stretched out full-length on her stomach on the grass. Something overgrown tickled her feet, but it was leafy, not thorny like the dog rose, so she rather liked that. It was if the garden was gesturing at her, welcoming her back to it. This was the mid-morning after the evening her family surprised her; the first day of being home. She gloried that Operation Home ended here. This was not simply a home that was an end to the travelling, but her home, the best of all homes, Apple Bough.
Wag wiggled his way under her arm, his poodle-curly hair and long body feeling exactly right against Myra's side. He wiggled, and she knew that if she herself had a tail she too would wag. They were home at last.