The dog raised his head.
His eyes held mine with such quiet understanding that my breath caught. It felt as if he knew the question mattered, even if he was not ready to answer it.
Then he lowered his chin again.
Three days later, he came to my house.
And this time, he carried something in his mout
Part Two: The Rabbit
I was standing behind the house, trying to finish hanging laundry, when I heard scratching at the back gate.
It was soft and deliberate—like someone knocking gently because they did not want to frighten me.
I wiped my hands on my sweater and walked over.
When I opened the gate, the dog sat on the other side.
His tail moved in small, careful sweeps.
Something hung from his mouth.
At first, I thought it was a dirty rag. Then I saw the shape of it.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Oh, sweetheart.”
