That answer only made me
more curious.
I started watching the dog whenever I visited.
He always seemed calm.
But every so often, he would stare toward the cemetery entrance as if he were waiting for someone.
Then, before I left, he would disappear.
I never saw where he went.
One Sunday, I walked back to my car and stopped beside the driver’s door without opening it.
I looked toward the cemetery.
The dog was still there.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, that image stayed with me all week.
Then came the Sunday when I finally decided to find out where he went.
Instead of leaving at my usual time, I stayed behind and watched from a distance.
Eventually, the dog stood.
He stretched.
Then he started trotting toward the cemetery gates.
I followed him.
I still don’t completely know why.
Something inside me simply needed to know where he went.
