The summer breeze blows in through the window, tickling my face, and the chirping of birds nag me to get up. I climb out of bed and make my way to my mirror and analyze my appearance. I throw on my obnoxiously neon-colored clothes and tease my hair.

The clock reads 8:00 a.m., which means that dad is probably home from selling crops at the market. Whenever he goes to the market, he always buys a piece of candy for me as a treat for helping him on the plantation. He knows how much I adore candy.

I traipse through the hallway from my room to the entryway, passing a window that encompasses the acre of land where our crops grow. Just as I walk into the entryway, the door swings open, revealing a figure that resembles dad.

“Did you get any candy, Pops?” I giggle as he cradles me in his arms.

“I couldn’t, Amanda,” he sighs, and releases me from his bear hug. He puts the trinkets he brought to the market down and his usually lit up face sulks.

I am flabbergasted. He always brings home candy, and the person who sells it is always there. It is extremely tenuous that he did not bring any home. In fact, I cannot even think of a time where he did not bring home the deliciousness I crave.

He leaves me in astonishment and dawdles into the kitchen, where I am sure mom will be. After he disappears through the door, I follow precariously, making sure that the wooden floors do not creak under me.

I stop when I hear voices lingering from the kitchen. At first they are almost indecipherable, but then my ears gain focus. “Is everything all right Michael?” my mom worries. I hear the water from the sink cease and the pots and pans settle so her attention is just on dad.

“Not at all,” dad mutters. “This recession has really gotten the worse of me. I received nothing but a pittance today. Four more people have been fired and I’m afraid I’m going to be next.”

“Chill ! Everything will be okay,” mom tries to commiserate.

The conversation is tormenting and antagonizing me, but I cannot help but listen. What is the recession? Will dad get fired? My surveillance is finally interrupted when I hear the barking from Charley, my caramel-colored cocker spaniel.
I run to where he is howling and open the door to let him outside where he frolics in the fields, savoring the sunlight and warmth of the summer. Rather than return to my dreary eaves dropping, I run instead to the television set and turn on MTV . Currently, it is showcasing one of Madonna’s music videos. I am reluctant to go back and listen more to their conversation, fearing what else I may over hear.
I can tell that their meeting has adjourned because dad walks out, his head hanging and he sits next to me on the couch.
“Is everything okay?” I pry, trying to see if I can get anything out of him from his conversation in the kitchen.
“Totally !” Lie! He is not going to tell me anything now, so I just sit and examine the television until I finally decide to get fresh-air.
For the rest of the day, I care for the animals (the horses and the chickens) and trying not to lament over the details I learned today.
I lay with my favorite horse, Daisy, a red roan, and Charley, who is my favorite of all of our animals. I stroke them and wonder what is next to come.
Will dad lose his job like the others had? Will everything be okay? Will the recession, whatever it is, not affect us in anyway?
By the time the sky has turned to dusk, I have already begun to fear what tomorrow will bring, but at the same time I have also been girding myself for it.


The summer breeze wakes me again and I tease my hair so it sticks up about an inch off the top of my head and throw on neon-colored clothing again. I decide to wear a neon-green low cut shirt with no sleeves and plain-colored leggings. In the mirror, I spot the circles around my eyes, delivered by my lack of sleep and worrying. 8:15, the clock reads. I walk the hallway to the entryway and again, meet my dad.
The circles under his eyes have sunken deeper than I thought was possible over night and his always pristinely teased hair has taken the reins for itself. Usually, he is beatific with his dark hair and his tall body, but now, he looks decrepit. Even his posture has worsened, so bad it looks as if he has aged a hundred years and has become my grandfather.
I am not expecting candy today, especially after yesterday so I request, “What’s the 4-1-1 , Pops?”
Creeping up behind me (probably coming from the kitchen) mom asks in the same tone as she spoke yesterday before dad can answer me, “Are you alright?”
“No. Sales have decreased and there are few jobs available now. I have been fired. We barely have little money to provide for ourselves, let alone our animals. We were struggling even before when I had a paying job. I don’t know what—.”
“What does that mean?” I demand, hoping that I will not regret the answer that he is about to give.
“It means we will probably have to sell the animals in order to provide for ourselves,” he sighs.
“That’s bogus !” I croak. I can barely breathe. Selling the animals is like banishing my happiness. They were the ones who were always there to comfort me for my entire life. My eyes turn to glass and a droplet of salt water starts inching its way down my cheek.
“Chill , Amanda! This means we will be able to have money and be able to survive,” he tries to reassure me.
“When?” I squeak, the lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe, let alone talk.
“The sooner the better. I was thinking you say goodbye right now so I can sell them so we can get the money.” He casts me a stern but sorrowful look.
More droplets start to inch their way down my cheek. I run to the kitchen, knowing Charley would be there. Sure enough, his caramel-colored hair was spread across the tile and he glares at me, sensing something is wrong.
I drop to my knees and rest my head on his, my tears staining his perfect coat.
“It’ll be okay,” I reassure him as I run my hand up and down his back but I know that I am only trying to help myself. Charley has been my one friend my entire life. Everyone at school did not like me and losing Charley just breaks my heart. He has been the only one there for me when no one else could. Losing him is like a mother, losing her first-born child.
Within ten minutes, dad comes in, wearing his brightly colored clothing and hooking Charley’s neon green leash to his matching collar.
“See ya later, Charley. I’ll miss you,” I cry, releasing him from my grasp for the last time.

The days after the animals were gone felt perennial. I have been cooped-up inside for the past week, mourning over everything that has happened. No more riding Daisy, playing fetch with Charley or chasing the chickens around. The plantation has been eerily silent and grim. I have been zoning out to MTV for the last week.
Dad has been looking for other jobs but has had no luck and the house has become extremely tense.
After about two months of suffering and little money, dad finally bellows from the kitchen, “I found one!” I swing my legs off of the couch and follow the trail of his voice.
“What did you find?” I question, praying that it is good news.
“A job! Look here!” he exclaims, shoving a newspaper into my arms. On the newspaper is a large, red circle around a job that fits my dad’s criteria. Not anything special, just working at the register for some supermarket, but it’s good enough for now.
“Awesome! You should contact them!” I chirp, a smile creeping across my face. This has been the first bit of good news in that last week and I am ecstatic and my body is suddenly invigorated that we might start to earn money. Will we be able to get Charley and Daisy back?


Within a week, dad started his new job at the supermarket. We have begun to gain back money from the past two months, just in time for my birthday, which is tomorrow. My dad getting a job has been the best gift I could ask for. The house is less tense than it has been, though I do miss Charley and Daisy, I am happier than I was the weeks before.


I wake up by the summer breeze again and follow the same routine: tease my hair, and throw on neon clothes, only today I realize it is August twenty-eighth, my birthday.
I run through the hallway and see my dad home (he does not work in the mornings anymore) sitting on the couch, lost in a novel. The sound of sizzling excites my stomach and I walk into the kitchen. I see my mom at the stove ready for the day and an apron is wrapped around her.
“Happy Birthday, Amanda!” she cheers, coming over to hug me.
“Thank you,” I reply and stare at the stove where bacon is frying.
“Do you want breakfast first, or your present?” her voice is muffled in my hair.
“I guess my present,” I reply, her finally letting go of me.
“Okay, close your eyes and I will guide you to it,” she exclaims and I obey.
After leading me to what I think is the living room, both my mom and dad chant, “Open your eyes.”
I open them and my eyes fixate on a caramel-colored lump of fuzz on the floor. Confused, I kneel down besides it. Just as I do, a head perks up and I cannot believe my eyes! Are these the beady brown eyes and the wet, dark nose and the long, hairy snout that I have grown to love? I encompass Charley in my arms and exuberantly screech, “Thank you!” The bleak days and days before today have been forgotten and all I can focus on is us wrapped together.