“Where else can I take him?”

“But why there?”

“Anywhere else, I’ll have to drive to, and that’s just silly. Besides, I’m not going all the way.” Not going all the way to the millpond, she means. Not there.

It’s been seven years. And still the thought of the old path hurts. Ed drops into the kitchen chair, the stony weight of his memory bearing down on him.

* * *

Ed runs the length of the old path, uselessly calling out Stacy’s name, hearing his own voice echo against the newly leafed trees ringing the still surface of the still pond. There is no sign of her, and the relief is pounding in his chest. He runs home, believing that she must have gone to her grandmother’s house, not come this way after all.

* * *

The dog, giving up hope that the leash means anything, rests his head on Ed’s knee. “I guess he deserves a good walk.” Ed turns away from Alice, but she sees that he has hurt himself with remembering. He strokes the dog’s head, keeping his face from her.

Alice hands Ed the leash. “Do you want to take him?”

Ed shakes his head. “I forgot to get the poster board. For the ‘Found’ signs.”

“That’s all right. There’s no hurry, is there?”

“His people could be looking for him. Panicked, don’t you think?”

“If he’s meant to be found, he will be.”

* * *

This place reminds Mack of go-to-the-park. The tall squirrel-bearing trees, the enticing bolt-holes of ground vermin, the twitter of bird life above his head. The scents. Oh, the scents of a primeval wood on the nose of a dog long removed from his ancestral purpose. Justine would encourage him with a whispered: “Get it!” and then laugh when he couldn’t. They never tired of the game.

Today, his new female, Alice, has linked him to the leash and led him to this equally glorious patch of nature. Above the scent of rodents lies the even more welcome scent of other dogs. He breathes in the calling cards of a variety of canines, all of which indicate they thought this was their territory. He covers their marks with his own. The only spoiler to this perfect outing is the fact that this Alice does not let him run off leash. She clings tenaciously to the other end, keeping up a soft patter of tongue language that Mack interprets as a request not to pull her off her feet. As if he’d ever do such a thing. From birth, Mack has known better than to pull on the leash. From earliest training, he has kept to the side of his person, his long nose just at the crook of the knee. Justine believes that he has genius. He may have, but he also has a Sheltie’s proclivity for obedience, as well as a superior sense of dignity. He has always prided himself on being a perfect gentleman. So he lets this new woman, Alice, keep him close without argument. He accepts her restraint with equanimity. He listens to her voice as she speaks of what a good boy he is and cheerfully looks up at her, his herd-dog eyes locked on hers. In catching her eye as a good sheepdog does, he gets a glimpse of her own intelligence. She doesn’t look away from his gaze; she looks deeper into it. And with that look comes a thin line of connection, of partnership. Alice strokes his muzzle and lifts it to her face. Just like Justine sometimes has on her face, this woman has tears streaming. Clearly, Alice, like Justine, needs him. He licks at the salty tears.