Roman
“I’m getting too old for long car journeys.” My grandpa, Yarrow, eased himself out of the backseat of the SUV. “Do me a favour, Row. Pass me my cane, would you?”
My brother leaned over the back seat to fish out the walking stick from the trunk we made together for our grandfather’s hundredth and tenth birthday. Row selected the wood and carved the cane, while I carved the wolf’s head handle.
‘Tell you what I need,’ Ransom bounced from paw to paw, ‘a good run before we have to go socialisin’. Cooped up for twelve hours straight, listening to the tater tot sing the best of John Denver is enough to send a wolf nuttier than a squirrel turd.’
“You doing alright, Dad?” my father asked as he plugged in our SUV to charge from the assigned space in the delegates’ parking lot. “The party’s
