The Cranberry Harvest

Come October, the bogs flood and the whole crop floats up red, and every grower knows the harvest runs on two things: a truck that still turns over cold, and a dog who's convinced the whole operation depends on his supervision. He won't move a single berry. But he'll walk the dike beside you, nose to the water, certain he's the reason it all comes in. For the families who measure the year by the flood, and the goldens who take full credit for the yield.