Scooter started with a question. Why all this dark brown stuff everywhere. Even balloons. Even candy wrappers, all this . . .

Where did you see candy wrappers? I asked, but he was on to the next question.

Why don’t we play balloon anymore?

You pop them.

Ah. How about the plastic gallon milk jug grapple? I love that game.

You chew the neck off the bottles.

Ah.

Back to the brown stuff, he said. Some is hanging, some . . . Hey! What about playing in the snow?

Stay on subject, Scooter. What you are seeing? I’m not seeing brown stuff anywhere. What shapes are these things?

Shapes? He asked. I’m a dog, mom. Dogs don’t identify shapes. At least, they don’t unless they’ve had very specialized training, and you know we don’t do specialized training.

So you can’t help me with the shape of this brown stuff you are seeing all  . . .

There! There’s some, said he.

Around, I said, finishing my sentence.

That? I asked. That red heart?

Brown, said he.

Right. I forgot. Your eyesight is about 20/75. Up close is blurry. And when I see red, you see brown. We observe the very same thing, but differently.

Brown, he said.

We’re not going to argue, I said. Look, here’s an example of how differently we see color. But now I’m laughing, because you can’t see the difference.

And Scooter, the red shape you see, we call heart-shape. These symbolize love. Today is Valentine’s Day. A day for expressing love.

 Valentine? As in Saint Valentine?

You all should have heard that howl. Incredulity lifted Scooter away from our cuddle.  

Saint Valentine, the Roman priest guy? He asked with alarm.

 Something like that, yes. Smart you, Scooter Sublime.

 Mom! (what was with this “Have you lost your mind?” stance of his?)

Mom! Church History is your field. You should know! That guy was murdered on February 14th. Rome’s Emperor Claudius didn’t like his army guys getting married and wanting to stay home with their families instead of going to war. So, he banned marriages. Well, you can imagine how a Catholic priest felt about that. Valentine just kept on marrying people.

 Valentine did?

Is my hearing better than yours? Valentine did.

Scooter! Sit!

Sorry, Mom. But maybe this is the day you should hang that big machete you own on the wall outside our door. If the story is to be believed – I mean, it’s been weaving its way down through communities since the third century—Saint Valentine was tossed into prison, clubbed to death, and his head cut off. You string red hearts?

Do you know the rest of the story, smart dog?

I’ve heard it, he said as he returned to our cuddle.

Tell me.

Legend has it . . . Scooter began.

Good for you, understanding legend.

Legend has it that while he was in jail, he left a farewell note for the jailer’s daughter—some say he cured her of deafness—and signed it, “From your Valentine.” That sounds pretty legendy to me, he said.

 But it is dear, isn’t it? I mean, a sweet ending to a story of bravery and sorrow.

It’s a strange word you used, “dear,” but I like it. Mom? said the Scooter, resting his chin on my hand.

I love you and Dad, Scooter said.

We love you too, Scooter. Happy Valentine’s Day.