Mack hears his name and cocks his head. He knows this word. This is so exciting. Finally, this guy remembers what to call him. Mack jumps to his feet and barks a short, sharp yap, just to say, Yessss! Spontaneously, he spins around, pivoting on his back legs. He barks again. Woohoo!

Then Ed says something else, using the Buddy word this time. Mack doesn’t understand what he says, but he hears the grief in the saying of it, which stops his barking and spinning. He flops onto the carpet, down but keeping his eyes on Ed. He’s not sure what Ed wants. A good dog, he focuses on the man’s face and waits for clarity. For a long moment, nothing happens except that Ed’s head is down and his hands are clasped together between his knees.

Suddenly, Ed rolls the desk chair away from the computer table and calls the dog over. Buddy jumps up from his self-imposed down-stay and snuggles up between Ed’s knees, happy to have the back scratch, hoping that maybe they’ll go someplace. But Ed’s touch feels unhappy. Buddy presses himself closer.

When Ed gets up, Buddy follows him out of the spare room and down the stairs to the garage. Excited, anticipating a ride in the car, Buddy makes a little chortling sound, encouraging Ed to get a move on. Maybe just a quick run to Potter’s for jerky, or another ride to Lil’s. It doesn’t really matter; a ride is just fun. Ed lets Buddy into the Cutlass and the dog assumes his shotgun position, ready to navigate. Ready to do this job that Ed has given him, to be a good passenger and point out squirrels. He swings a look in Ed’s direction. Ready? Let’s go! Finally the rumble of the garage door signals departure. Ed starts the car and backs out of the garage. He hasn’t said a word, not the Buddy word or the Mack one since leaving the spare room, but now Ed begins to talk. Ed uses another word; his monologue is laced with it until Buddy gives up trying to figure out if it’s meant as a command or a praise word; a random vocalization or a human word not meant for canine comprehension. Stacy. Buddy doesn’t know what Ed is saying, but he grasps what he needs to do.

Buddy moves from his shotgun position to the middle of the front seat, scooting his rump over so that it touches Ed’s hip. Ed wraps his right arm around the dog. He keeps talking, his voice streaming out a story that even a dog can understand, because he’s felt the same way.

Lost.

Chapter 41

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