What Buster Understood

Martha sat at her kitchen table, the morning light streaming through the window she'd wiped clean every Tuesday for forty-seven years. Before her sat two things that represented her new reality: a white plastic organizer with her daily vitamins, and a sleek black iPhone her daughter had insisted she needed.

"For FaceTime, Mom. So you can see the grandbabies."

The phone lay there like a sleeping animal. Martha poked at it tentatively, but it remained stubbornly dark. Beside her, Buster—a golden retriever with a muzzle as white as Martha's own hair—rested his chin on her knee. His warm brown eyes seemed to say, *It's alright. I'm here.*

"You wouldn't need one of these contraptions, would you, Buster?" Martha sighed, scratching behind his ears. "You're happy with a stick and a sunny spot."

Buster had been her husband Arthur's dog, really. Arthur had brought him home as a pup the same year Martha had started taking calcium supplements. *"For your bones, Martha,"* Arthur had said with that gentle smile of his. Now Arthur was gone three years, and somehow she was still taking vitamins, still taking care of Buster, still sitting at this table.

The iPhone suddenly lit up with a chirp. Martha nearly knocked over her vitamin water. Heart pounding, she managed to swipe the green button as her daughter had shown her twice.

"Grandma!" A tiny face filled the screen—little Emma, now three years old and living three states away. "We're FaceTiming!"

Behind Emma, Martha could see her daughter Sarah's smile. "See, Mom? You did it!"

Martha felt tears prick her eyes. She was seeing them, really seeing them, across all those miles. Buster lifted his head at the sound of familiar voices and let out a happy woof.

"That's Buster!" Emma clapped. "Hi Buster!"

They talked for ten minutes. Martha learned about Emma's preschool adventures and Sarah's new garden. When they finally said goodbye, Martha sat back, the phone still warm in her hand.

"Well, Buster," she said softly. "Maybe there's something to this new world after all."

Buster nudged her hand, reminding her it was time for his walk—and her vitamins. Some things never changed. But maybe, Martha thought as she reached for the little white pill that had become part of her morning ritual, that wasn't such a bad thing. The old and the new could live together, like Arthur's memory and this magical window into her granddaughter's world.

She swallowed her vitamin, pocketed the iPhone, and whistled for Buster. Some days, you had to embrace change. Other days, you just needed a good dog and a walk in the sunshine.