He was a scruffy mixed breed with no collar, always lying quietly beside Caleb’s headstone.
And by the time I left, he was always gone.
The first time I saw him, I assumed he belonged to another visitor.
He was medium-sized, with uneven brown and gray fur that looked as though someone had tried to trim it with a pair of kitchen scissors.
One ear stood straight up.
The other folded slightly at the tip.
His ribs weren’t visible, but he was thin enough to make me wonder how regularly he ate.
When I approached, he didn’t bark.
He simply lifted his head.
“Hey there,” I said.
His dark eyes followed me as I walked toward Caleb’s grave.
That’s when I realized exactly where he had been lying.
Right beside Caleb’s headstone.
Not somewhere nearby.
Beside it.
The dog moved a few feet away when I knelt, but he didn’t leave.
