Part 9 – The Prints in the Dirt
They shouldn’t have been there.
The rain had wiped everything clean. Marlene had watched it fall all night—steady, hard, thorough. No footprints remained in the yard, not even her own from the afternoon before.
And yet… here they were.
Two sets of pawprints.
One larger, slightly deeper, with the wide pads of an old dog who walked slow but steady. The other—newer, tighter—belonged to Shadow.
The old prints stopped near the grave.
The newer ones began right there.
Marlene stood barefoot in the doorway, heart fluttering like a leaf on a fence wire. The prints weren’t an illusion. She could see where the mud had been pressed down, where each toe had sunk just slightly.
She knelt, reached out, and touched one.
Still damp.
Still real.
Shadow padded up beside her. He looked down at the trail, then back at her, then curled into a sitting position with his back to the grave—facing the house.
Guarding.
Like always.
Marlene said nothing about the prints to Dr. Lyles when she stopped by later that morning. The vet was just dropping off some heartworm meds and a new ID tag with SHADOW etched in small, strong letters.
“He’s settling in,” Dr. Lyles said, scratching behind his ear. “Weight’s better. Limps less.”
“He’s still too quiet,” Marlene said.
“Maybe he’s just listening.”
Marlene smiled at that.
“Maybe.”
They shared coffee on the porch while Shadow lay at their feet, tail twitching slightly as the wind changed.
“You keeping watch, boy?” Dr. Lyles asked softly.
Shadow didn’t move. Just blinked slowly.
But Marlene answered for him.
“Always.”
That night, she sat on the porch swing with an old photo album in her lap.
She flipped to a picture of Walter with Socks—taken on a fall day just like this one. The porch looked younger then. So did she. And the dog? He had been a streak of mischief and muscle, panting with pride over a chewed-up slipper.
Shadow was stretched out near the steps.
He hadn’t brought a gift that day. None of the animals had.
No foil. No ribbon. No pinecone.
Just the silence.
But it wasn’t a lonely one.
It was full.
The kind of silence that comes when no one has to speak to be understood.
She fell asleep in the swing for the first time in years.
When she woke, the stars were overhead, and Shadow was curled beside her like a shadow made real. The wind had died. The air smelled of cedar and chimney smoke.
And in her lap—
Another offering.
A crumpled piece of paper. Tattered. Soggy at the edges.
She unfolded it.
It was a torn page from a book. One of Walter’s old Westerns. The page was yellowed but legible.
A single sentence had been underlined in faint pencil:
“He waited on the porch, because it was where loyalty lived.”
Her breath caught.
She looked down at Shadow.
His eyes were open.
Watching her.
The next morning, she made a decision.
She called the local carpenter—young man named Toby—and asked him to come by.
When he arrived that afternoon, he found her seated with Shadow on the porch.
“I need a sign,” she told him.
“What kind of sign?”
“Wooden. Weatherproof. Not too big. Just something that can hang over the steps.”
Toby nodded. “What should it say?”
Marlene didn’t hesitate.
“Socks’ Porch. And underneath, in smaller letters—‘Where the Watch Never Ends.’”
Toby grinned. “That’s real nice, Ms. Taggart. I’ll make it by Friday.”
Marlene nodded. “He’d like that.”
She looked at Shadow.
“So would he.”
That evening, Brandon called.
From the city, judging by the hum in the background.
“Sorry it took me a while,” he said. “Just wanted to hear your voice. Been thinkin’ about Socks.”
“He’s still here,” Marlene said.
Brandon was quiet for a long time.
“You mean… in memory?”
“I mean still here. The way a good dog stays when you need him most.”
She heard him exhale.
“You know, I’ve been thinking… maybe I come back more often. Maybe next month.”
“You’re always welcome,” she said. “So is anyone who loved him.”
Another pause.
“I’ll bring flowers.”
“He’d rather bacon.”
Brandon laughed.
“Yeah. He would.”
As the stars blinked on again and the house settled for the night, Marlene stepped out one last time.
Shadow was on the porch.
But this time, he wasn’t alone.
Beside him lay the youngest barn cat, curled tight.
And against his back, just barely visible under the porch rail, was the little possum—fast asleep.
Shadow didn’t move.
He looked at Marlene once, then turned his head back toward the field.
And in the hush between heartbeats, she could’ve sworn she heard it:
A familiar tail thumping in the dirt.