Harvey, His Bird, and Our Freedom

It’s the kind of summer day that clings to you — hot, thick, the air heavy like soup. The grill’s rolling slow in the corner of the yard. We’ve carved out a patch of shade and settled in, sweat on our brows and laughter close by.

And there’s Harvey. Thirty minutes of fetch behind him, dirt smudged on his nose, tongue flopped sideways, chest heaving — but that tail is still going like he’s got forever left in him.

He circles me. Starts, stops. Shifts his weight like maybe the right angle will change my mind. He drops his little blue bird at my feet, noses it closer, presses it to my hand. When I don’t move, he tries again — a paw on my knee, eyes locked on mine, a silent please.

If it doesn’t work, he’ll lie down with that bird tucked tight against his paws. But he doesn’t really rest. His eyes never leave me. He’s still waiting — ready the second I am.

That’s what loyalty looks like. Not just when the game is good and the throws keep coming — but when you trust someone enough to wait. The faith that says: You’ve come through before. You’ll come through again. He believes it because I’ve proved it — toss after toss, day after day.

It makes me think about the trust we carry in bigger things too — the quiet readiness of the men and women who stand guard for the rest of us. We don’t see them circling our yards, but they’re always out there — on some post, some base, some watchtower, waiting for the moment they’re needed.

Each of them writes a blank check when they raise their right hand — a promise that says: I’m willing to give my life, if that’s what it takes. That check buys us this peace. It lets us toss a ball in a backyard, tend a slow grill, pour a glass of bourbon, and live free in ways most of the world only dreams about.

Harvey’s faith is simple, but the freedom behind it never is. It’s built on sacrifice — on courage most of us will never see firsthand.

This week is the Fourth of July. We’ll light fireworks, wave flags, watch the sky bloom red and gold — but maybe the real tribute happens right here: in the hush of a summer yard, a loyal dog with a toy at your feet, a deep breath that says thank you for every unseen sacrifice that lets you stand barefoot in the grass.

May we remember the cost.

May we trust each other the way they trust us — because someone, somewhere, stands ready for all of us.

May we never forget that blank check, signed in faith, paid in full if need be — so we can have our little patch of shade, our children’s laughter, the taste of bourbon on a summer evening.

May we live lives worthy of the peace they protect.

May we never take for granted the simple, sacred gift of freedom — bought and paid for by strangers who believe we’re worth it.