Deep in the dog days of summer, the boys and I grab a kitchen-mixing bowls fill it with water and place it on a shady patch of sidewalk.
“I think it needs a sign,” I say. In our yard, walkers might mistake the bowl as part of our standard clutter.
For All Thirsty Dogs I. writes in blue marker using his best handwriting. We tape it to the bowl and head to the movies out of the 104-degree heat.