It rests its front paws on the ridge, ears twirling to follow the wind. The red collar, a gift you bought it last week, glows softly in the sunset.

Its fur still holds grass clippings from chasing butterflies in the yard, mixed with the warmth of the evening sun. It crouches in the breeze, nose lifted to the air, every breath searching for the scent of your return.

It doesn’t need to understand car horns or human voices—just catch sight of your familiar figure rounding the alley, and it will leap forward, rubbing all the joy of the dusk onto your trousers.