Dirt and Kiki are back from Arizona after a year away, and again the air is filled with smoke. I pulled the Jeep into their driveway the other night, a fistful of Ashtons in my hand. Their geriatric German Shepherd, Helmut, trotted out to greet me. Normally reserved, this time he beamed. There's no smile like a dog's when they're genuinely thrilled to see you. I skritched his ears for a good minute while he whimpered with pleasure, and then I stood up to go do the same to Dirt.
Helmut stuck his massive head into the Jeep and looked in the back. And I felt all of the wind go out of me. I'm sorry, boy. She's not there.
With no wiggling Ed to greet him, Helmut walked over to the deck, sighed dejectedly, and slumped in a heap for the rest of the evening. "Yeah," I said. "I know the feeling."