Dog never knew his real family. He clung to wisps of memories of scrambling with his brothers and sisters, but they were separated early into study groups. Dog was bred to have certain genetic traits and spent his first 2 years of life in a medical laboratory as a test subject. Devoid of contact with others, he never barked or howled. Never ran or hunted or saw a friendly face. He merely ate, drank, pooped, and slept. He existed.

Release from that lab was like Dog’s true birth. Through the glass, a face appeared. A face more clear and bright than any of the blinding lights of the laboratory. The face was smiling. And it was making noises. They sounded like tickling. Dog buckled down and he howled for the first time, low and long. The face smiled wider.

Outside, things were warmer. The face was warmer too, and it belonged to a woman named Jamie who was taking Dog to what she told him would be a happier place. She took him home, and taught Dog all of the great about life as a dog that he had been deprived of before. They wrestled together on the floor until they both lay panting at the ceiling. They went to the park for a brisk walk in the sunshine, and lounged in the grass eating meats and cheeses. Played fetch. Hiked through the woods. And came home to cuddle together in a warm bed at the end of it. Dog was flourishing for the first time.