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I dreamt of him last night, and woke up grieving.

In the dream he was alive again, young and healthy, leaping, bounding to greet me. His tongue hung goofily out of the side of his mouth as it always did in his happiest moments.

It’s a child’s wish — “Bring him back to life.” But we love our dogs with child hearts. There’s no reason in it, no rationality, only open, unguarded love, and that is why they bring us the greatest of joys and such deep, tender grief. He’s been gone almost a year, and there’s a bruise in my heart still. I feel it every day.

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