Dewey yelps, and Gramps and I share a big smile because we both understand that was a cry of pure joy. Dewey stands up on her back legs, balancing her front paws on my shoulders so she can kiss my cheek, and as she does, she reminds me, This is where I found you!

I see it like a movie playing in my mind, only it’s not my memory—it’s Dewey’s, and from her point of view, she’s the one who found me.

“I know,” I say out loud. “How could I ever forget?”

“Forget what?” Gramps asks.

“Dewey—she was showing me how this is where we first met.”

Along the trail, Dewey crosses back and forth in front of our path, tugging at the leash and sniffing everything, constantly looking back at us and smiling.

“She’s never taken a walk like this before. With a person,” I add. “On a leash. Just for fun,” translating for Gramps everything Dewey is telling me.

I spent a lot of time walking around the woods, but it was never fun like this.

She leaps forward, and I have to jog to keep up with her. I yell to Gramps behind us, “She feels like she’s seeing it all for the first time with us!”

“Go, run!” he calls. “I’m right behind you.”

We run through the dried leaves, our footsteps crunching and making so much noise the birds and squirrels flee as we approach. Dewey slows down as we get close to the pond, and brings us right to the edge of the water.

She’s about to get a drink, but I say, “Wait! Dewey, you don’t have to drink that water anymore.” I slide my backpack off my shoulder and get the plastic collapsible bowl out.

Dewey drinks the whole thing while Gramps and I spread out the blanket.

“This is a good spot,” Gramps says, looking out over the water.

“You said we’d come back,” I tell him.

He grins at Dewey, then asks me, “She told you you’d come here, did she?”

“No, you did,” I say.

“I did?” he exclaims, amused. “I think I’d remember that.”

“But we were just here a few days ago,” I tell him.

Gramps ignores me. He calls Dewey over instead. She comes and lies down between us on the blanket, resting her chin on my knee, as she looks up at me with her different-colored eyes and blinks softly.

It’s okay, she tells me, sensing my worry.

Gramps reaches into the bag and pulls out a dog biscuit for Dewey, who happily crunches on it while we sit. “What else do you have in there, Sass?” he asks, completely changing the subject.

I pull out my sketchbook and pencils. Dewey sniffs the cover and gives it a lick.

I don’t like that taste. She smacks her tongue over her mouth.