That was also the last time Matt Kearns or Jim Bowden ever saw Madison Junior High, and Matt doubted if all the money in the world could get him back through those doors. They might close behind him, and he’d be there forever, scraping gum in an empty cafeteria, stranger’s feet shuffling in the darkness here and there.

Through it all, Elmo waited for him, as all good pets do. Through junior high, through high school, through his intermittent college classes, through trips. Always there, regardless of social position or the blues. Looking back, he owed that dog so much. In the end, he did as much as he could for Elmo, because Elmo was always there for him. He wasn’t going to let some stranger hold Elmo as he was injected with a lethal drug. He and Andrea made sure of that. The cancer had hit Elmo fast. He’d started vomiting blood and bleeding from his nose. Before that, he’d gotten stiff, arthritis taking its toll.

Four nights before he’d died, Elmo had wanted to go outside for a walk at 1:00 a.m., and for the first time in two years had worked himself into a full sprint, legs fully extended. Elmo and Matt had run down the empty suburban street, streetlamps humming, Elmo’s claws scraping the pavement. A real, full-on sprint, Elmo’s tongue lolling, his eyes big and full of love. Even Elmo seemed surprise he could do it. They’d run for at least five minutes, alone in the suburban night, Matt laughing and shouting with joy, encouraging Elmo on. Elmo was so amped he’d sprinted around the court four times before going inside. Matt had given him a bath, and the crazy dog ran around in the house, too. Four days before he died, he acted like he was a puppy again.

Four days.

He wished he didn’t remember Elmo’s death, but he did. Most prominent in these remembrances was the phone conversation he had with his sister a month after Elmo died. The dreams had been relentless.

He remembered the hollow rings.

“Hello,” Andrea had said. Exhaustion thick in her voice.

“How are you?” he’d asked, weary, beaten.

“As good as can be, I guess,” Andrea said. “Still hurts.”

Silence overcame the line.

“I had a dream last night,” Matt said. “Super clear.”

“Okay . . .” Andrea had said.

“It was about Elmo.”

Silence.

“I dreamt he’d fallen down this metal tube. I mean, real long tubing that went down into some metal chamber the size of a hospital room. When he emerged into the chamber, he was no longer a dog. He was a mountain lion. Crazy, right?”

“It’s not crazy at all,” she’d said. “It’s beautiful.”