Palms of My Hands

On a bright Sunday morning, one of my neighbor’s boys, who were just a little fellow, was walking to playground with me. Soon the sights and sounds of a new day invited him to skip on ahead. Suddenly his carefree progress came to an end. A few yards away was a boxer dog looking at him. Stopping abruptly, the boy turned and rushed to my side. Only when his hand was securely in mine and he knew I was right beside him was he able to walk undisturbed past the boxer.