Of Art Of Racing In The Rain - Index

My hips ache now. I am old. Sam is older. But last night, I dreamed I was a puppy again, running through an infinite green field. Sam was young, too, laughing, holding a wrench. He wasn’t fixing a car. He was fixing the light.

My name is Duke. I am a good dog.

Knowing when to let the track dry.

That’s when I started my index.

Sam taught me this from his racing magazines. “In the wet, Duke,” he’d say, scratching behind my ear, “the driver who finds grip wins. Not speed. Grip.” When Sam couldn’t walk to the bathroom anymore, I lay beside his bed. He gripped my fur. I gripped his hand. That was our traction. index of art of racing in the rain