Ik nam een ​​zwerfhond mee naar huis – toen ik zijn versleten halsband afdeed om hem te vervangen, vond ik een briefje waar ik bleek van werd.

“Nou, zeg het maar, en ik kom eraan. Neem dozen mee. Neem het maar van je over.”

Something in his voice was too eager, too rehearsed. But I was so tired that I just murmured a thank you and hung up.

***

The routine of feeding that dog was the only thing pulling me out of bed.

I would sit brushing the dog while whispering to Daniel about the weather, the crossword I couldn’t finish without him, and how Ellen kept dropping off casseroles I couldn’t eat.

“I haven’t had the heart, Greg.”

***

For two weeks straight, in rain and frost, that dog refused to leave Daniel’s grave.

On the eleventh day, the groundskeeper found me. His name tag read Bailey.

“Ma’am,” he said gently, “I’ve been letting this go. But he can’t keep sleeping out here. If he’s still on the grounds by the end of the week, I’ll have to call animal control.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “Just give me a few more days.”

Bailey looked at the dog, then at me, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“A few more,” he said. “That’s all I can do.”

“I’ve been letting this go.”

***

On day 14, something in me just snapped.

I packed a leash, a clean blanket, and a can of chicken from the pantry. I drove out in a thin gray dawn and sat down in the wet grass beside the dog.

“Okay, sweet boy,” I whispered. “I think Daniel would want you warm. Let’s go home.”

He lifted his head. Looked at me for a long second as I placed the leash around his neck. Then he stood up, slow and stiff, and walked straight to my car as if he’d been waiting for that exact sentence.

Bailey watched from a distance and gave a small nod.

“I think Daniel would want you warm.”

***