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I look into his eyes, and I find myself transported in another time, when surviving through the night depended on how long the campfire lasted, and on his alertness to danger. And every night, together we dream of those times, we run, and hunt, and get back tired and satisfied to our caves, just in time to start a new day.

His soft fur smells of faraway places, his paws scratch like sandpaper. I watch him  finding sparkling gems of  happiness carved in the safety of habit, in the comfort of good food, and in my warm embrace.

I stand by him and weather the passing of time. Day by day I learn what to expect. With his tragically short lifespan he plays for me the notes of the ephemeral allegro of youth, the downtempo of old age, the denoument of the finale, and the glorious symphony of each day and night in between.