Pack Together, Pack Apart

During the last few months of her long life, we’d still take Scout to the park, where she’d meet up with her friends — Molly, Archie, King, Cooper, Pepper, Auden, Moose, and the rest of the canine crew. By this time, as the old lady of the dog run, she was given a lot of space, whether out of respect or, more likely, lack of interest, since she only occasionally made a half-hearted attempt to play.

She died in October at sixteen and a half (as with young kids, when you get very old, the quarter and half years matter). A husky-shepherd mix, she had come to us from Moose Factory, Ontario, as a five-month-old pup who had been found in a chicken coop. She was house-trained, so there had been at least some care, some sense that she was a pet to someone. Thanks to the tireless work of rescue organizations, she made the long trek south, like so many other northern dogs. Lucky for her and for us.

When we adopted her, our boys were eight and five. Now they are both...