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I WENT TO THE PARK AGAIN today, just to check on Tiny. (No kidding, he's the one who got me out the door). What happened was, I was vaguely aware that the afternoon was fast waning, and I suddenly realized that in spite of getting that whole long terrific, delightful extra hour in the middle of the night last night, this evening's puny gift would only be a stretched-out time of darkness. So I jumped up, put on my sneakers and was out the door in four-fifteenths of the time I usually spend fighting the gravity of inertia.

This is what I have to report: The scene-of-the-crime tape still mars the landscape around Tiny's old hopping grounds, and all was quiet. I don't wish to be irreverent, but I sadly fear that Tiny has croaked.

In his memory I gathered a last dandelion of autumn and scattered it over his final resting place. After which I made a four-loop salute to the dying sun.
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