We spent a lot of time laying on the floor just talking, Anna stroking my fur contentedly, me in doggie heaven. If it was the cold time outside, she would sometimes stack chunks of tree in the vented indoor grotto and start a blaze on purpose. I admit, staring at that conflagration was quite hypnotic, and I could almost imagine being one of my primeval ancestors warming my hide in a cave someplace, lying on a bed of dried grasses, wind howling outside.

Sometimes we’d sit outside on the deck at night, the full moon our pale companion. She would be acting silly and start to howl, and I couldn’t help but join in, snout pointed toward the stars. She loved the sounds I made, and called them “Samoyed song.” I had an entire repertoire, and she could tell by my tone if I was a happy girl or smarting off if something wasn’t going my way.

We were quite a team, Anna and I. ...

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