I was still at school, when dad arrived home with a homeless dog. Her tail wagged all the way. Mom and dad fed her and gave her a bath. I had always wanted a dog. My parents told me when I was old enough and responsible, I could have one. Well I guess they figured the time was right.

I hopped off the bus, not knowing what awaited inside for me. I walked through the door, and to my surprise a white and black puppy with a red bow stuck to her head, greeted me with many many puppy kisses. A very special friendship was born that day.

Now she needed a name. My older brother laughed at her and said her tail was special. It doesn’t wag its tail back and forth, it goes in a circle. He motioned his finger around his ear. “She’s squirrely”, he said. Thus my puppy, Squirrely got her name. She was a smart dog. I taught her to play hide and seek. We would play for hours, spending our days learning and growing together.

Eleven years we were together, best of friends. Illnesses and old age set in on her. My parents knew what had to be done, but they stood back and let me find and make the decision myself.

She was suffering so much and the medicine didn’t seem to help anymore. She could barely walk. I looked into those deep brown eyes and realized it was time to let her go.

I carried her into the vet’s (兽医的) office, placed her on the table. Squirrely leaned her head forward, gave a lick to my hand. As if to say she understood, and stay strong. Her tail was wagging in that circle as it always did.

The vet gave her a sedative (镇静剂) first, for the final shot was given on her front paw, and that was painful. She went to sleep, but her tail still wagged.

Then the vet asked before giving the final shot, “Are you sure?” _

I didn’t go back to her grave for many years, but recently I went.

The paper was hidden in a brown bag. It was her late father’s bucket list, written on three pages torn from a notebook. Laura Carney looked down at it, then she glanced up at her husband. Without a word spoken, they both knew: “I needed to finish it,” says Carney, 46.

Her brother, David, was the first to spot it. He uncovered the treasure in 2016—13 years after their father, Michael Mick Carney, was tragically killed when he was 54 by a distracted driver.

The list, Carney says, was written in 1978, the year she was born. It had 60 tasks, five of which had already been checked off. One was marked “failed”. That left 54 items for Carney to complete. The tasks ranged from relatively simple tasks, like “grow a watermelon,” to more complicated ones like “correspond with a famous celebrity”. Several tasks were seemingly impossible. Still, Carney was not discouraged. For Carney, the bucket list was an unexpected opportunity to work through her pain and reconnect with her dad.

“The first couple ones that I did happened organically,” Carney says. She had already signed up for a marathon, which allowed her to check “run 10 miles straight” off the list.

Another item she completed early on was “talk with the president.” She learned that former President Jimmy Carter—who would have been president when Carney’s father wrote the list—taught Sunday school in Georgia. She and her husband flew there to meet him.

While Carney completed many of the bucket list tasks on her own—including a two-week trip to Europe— “it didn’t really feel like I was doing things alone, because I knew my dad was with me,” she says. “I feel like my relationship with him is very present.”

Carney’s brother and mother accompanied her for some activities, and her husband joined her for others. “After about the first year or two of doing this project, he would say to me that the person he had always seen in me was coming out,” Carney says. “I had all these layers of sadness and fear that I was leaving behind.”

There was only one last task left on the list: “Have five songs recorded”.

So she decided to write her own bucket list.

There lived a baker who was very stingy (吝啬的). His neighbour, on the other hand, was a kind man who was always glad to share the little he had.

The baker was jealous of his cheerful neighbour. He complained, “How can he have so little and yet be so happy?” Every morning, the smell of bread rolls went in the neighbour’s house. When the poor neighbour was eating stale (不新鲜的) bread, the wonderful smell filled the air. He took a deep breath and sighed with happiness.

As the baker watched, he thought, “The smell from my baked goods makes his stale bread taste delicious. That’s not fair. He should pay for such pleasure.” After seeing this happen, again and again, the baker went to his neighbour’s house and handed him a bill. “Every day you steal the smell of my baked goods. You need to pay for it,” said the baker. “You want me to pay ten coins as a smelling fee?” laughed the neighbour. “Yes! If you don’t pay, I’ll take you to the court,” replied the baker. When word of the baker’s demand spread around the city, everyone laughed at the idea of a stolen smell.

The greedy baker was so angry that he took the case to a respected judge. To everyone’s surprise, the judge sent word to the neighbour that he should bring five gold coins with him. When the kind man heard this, he worried that he would have to give the little money he had to the greedy baker. The baker was delighted at the news.

The next day, the baker and the neighbour arrived at the crowded court. When the judge walked in, the courtroom fell silent. First, he listened to the baker’s complaint. Then, he asked the neighbour, “Is it true that you enjoy the smell of this man’s baked goods every day?” “Yes, Your Honour! That is true,” admitted the neighbour.

Finally, the judge declared, “A smell has been stolen. Since stealing is a crime, the neighbour must be punished!”

The judge turned to the baker and asked, “Did you hear the wonderful sound of the gold coins?”

As we sat around the kitchen table following our Mid-Autumn Festival feast, the smell of the meal still remaining in the air, the atmosphere was one of harmony and warmth. Dad, having finished his meal, rose from his chair and stood nearby.

My nephew, driven by the excitement of the evening, began playing with his new basketball around the table, the music sound echoing softly in the cozy kitchen. As he neared Dad, however, he hesitated, noticing the elderly man’s outstretched(伸出) hand trembling slightly as it reached for the ball. He did not speak, and the boy looked at us in confusion.

After a brief pause, my nephew carefully passed the ball to Dad, unsure of what would come next. I watched closely, curious to see how Dad would respond. A playful twinkle danced in his eyes as he grasped the ball, his fingers finding familiar lines in its surface. Holding the ball and reached forward, he bounced the ball on the floor, the sound a joyful rhythm that seemed to awaken something within him.

Again and again, the simple act was repeated, each toss accompanied by a widening grin on Dad’s weather-beaten face. With a smile, he turned towards us, a silent invitation hanging in the air. And then, with a gentle toss, the game began.

Laughter filled the room as the ball passed from hand to hand, and the once-quiet kitchen now was alive with the sounds of family bonding. The ball continued to be passed through pairs of outstretched hands. Cries of “Over here!” rang through the warm kitchen. Dad’s active participation in this game was unexpected to me, since he had dementia(痴呆). This disease had robbed him of many memories and the recognition of people, places and points in time. Despite this, Dad clearly recognized the ball and what he could do with it.

I was transported back to my childhood.

I’m not sure how long we played the game.

In high school, I was the kind of student who preferred to remain unnoticed, hiding in the shadows of my louder and more outgoing classmates. Singing was a secret joy that I held close to my heart, but the fear of being judged and laughed at kept me from ever sharing it openly.

One unexpected day, during a school-wide meeting, a popular song filled the air, and I found myself singing along absentmindedly. Little did I know that my music teacher, Miss Johnson, had overheard my unguarded moment.

Days later, after the final bell rang, Miss Johnson approached me with a kind smile.“ I heard you singing during the meeting,” she said, her voice filled with surprise. “You have a beautiful voice. Have you ever considered participating in the school’s singing competition?”

My heart sank. I shook my head, my voice barely noticeable as I whispered, “I’m too shy. I couldn’t do that.”

Miss Johnson’s eyes twinkled with understanding.“ Shyness is just a wall you’ve built around yourself,” she said gently. “But with practice and courage, you can break through it. I see potential in you, and I believe in you.”

Her words touched me deeply, and for the first time, I felt a little brave. I decided to take her ad vice and start practicing. I sang in my room, alone, with the door closed, every day after school. I faced the mirror, pretending there was an audience before me, and I sang with all my heart. My voice was initially low and uncertain, but with every passing day, it grew stronger and more confident.

Miss Johnson continued to encourage me, reminding me that talent was meant to be shared. She said, “Your voice is a gift , and the world deserves to hear it. Don’t let shyness rob you of that opportunity.”

Inspired by her words, I gathered all my courage and signed up for the singing competition.

The day of the singing competition finally arrived.

As the last music note disappeared, the audience erupted in applause.