The Sketchbook at the Dog Park

Brielle took her dog to the park at seven. She went every morning. The dog was a brown dog named Pickle. He was small, fast, and very silly.

The park had a green fence. It also had a long bench. On the bench sat a man with a sketchbook. He was there every day. He drew the dogs. He did not talk to anyone.

Brielle watched him for two weeks. He drew a big white dog. He drew a dog with one ear. He drew a tiny dog in a red coat. His pencil moved fast.

"Is he drawing me?" Brielle thought. "No. He draws the dogs."

On Monday, Pickle ran to the bench. He jumped up. He put his nose on the man's bag. Brielle ran after him.

"I am so sorry," she said. "Pickle, no!"

The man laughed. "It is fine," he said. "He smells my sandwich."

"He smells everything," said Brielle. "I am Brielle."

"I am Cedric."

Pickle sat down on Cedric's shoe. He looked up with big eyes. Cedric gave him a small piece of bread. Brielle said, "Please do not do that. He will want it every day."

"Then he will come every day," Cedric said.

Brielle felt her face get warm. She looked at the sketchbook on the bench. "May I see your drawings?"

"Yes," said Cedric. He gave her the book.

She turned the pages slowly. There were many dogs. Every dog had a different face. Some looked happy. Some looked tired. One looked angry about a ball.

On the last page, there was a small brown dog. He had a long nose and one ear up. He ran across the grass.

"That is Pickle!" Brielle said.

"Yes," said Cedric. "He is my favorite. He runs like a small horse."

"You draw him every day?"

"Not every day," Cedric said. "Only the days he runs."

Brielle laughed. "He runs every day."

Cedric went red. He looked at his hands. "I know," he said.

For a moment, nobody spoke. The wind moved the leaves. Pickle snored on the shoe.

"I want to ask something," Cedric said. "Can I draw you too? Only your hand with the leash. People are hard for me."

"My hand?"

"Yes. Hands are easier."

Brielle sat on the bench. She held the leash out. Cedric drew for ten minutes. She did not move. Pickle slept. The sun came over the fence.

Then Cedric turned the book. The drawing showed a hand and a leash. A small dog sat at the end. The dog looked up at the hand with love.

"It is very good," Brielle said. "Can I keep it?"

Cedric tore the page out carefully. He wrote something in the corner. Then he gave it to her.

She read the words. They said, "Saturday, seven o'clock. Bring Pickle. Bring your face too."

Brielle looked up. Cedric looked at the grass.

"I will bring both," she said.

She put the page in her bag. Pickle woke up and shook his ears. Then he pulled her toward the gate. She waved at Cedric the whole way.