“Why are you so chipper today,” I asked Buster as he greeted me at the door. “It’s Monday, it’s Monday!” he replied. We wandered down the street for his constitutional. “Don’t you know,” I said, “everyone hates Mondays. It’s the end of the weekend, and the start of work.”

“My friend,” he began as he blew on a white dandelion and scattered its seeds to the wind. “I am 15 and retired. Every day is a weekend. But on Mondays I know I’ll see you in the morning.”