Downstairs, it was dead quiet. I found Sam by smell-on the sofa in the den, grasping something, looking down at it in his lap. I didn’t want to, but it was time to say good-bye to him, too.

When I jumped up next to him, he barely noticed, and his “Down” was so halfhearted, we both ignored it.

My picture. That was what he was holding.

Oh, Sam. Don’t be sad.

And then I saw something I’d never seen before. Sam crying.

It was worse than anything. I licked his cheek, and when he turned his face away I howled. Softly; more of a whine, a really tragic sound. It got his attention. He did something he never had before: He put both arms around me and buried his face in my neck.

And I raised up on my back legs and embraced him back. It was… divine. We’d never been so close, not since I changed. I’d have stayed there all night, but too soon Sam pulled himself together and pushed me away.

Incomplete again, bereft, I watched him dig a ratty Kleenex from his pocket and scrub his face. His crooked smile was the saddest thing I ever saw. He rarely talked to me, but now he said, “Funny dog. You’re a funny old dog. What’s up with you?” So many times I’d tried to answer that. Now I just shook my head. When he petted me, I closed my eyes and reveled in it, although my heart was cracking. Bye, Sam. Don’t worry anymore. I’m going to fix it. I love you so much.

The phone rang.

“Hello? Oh, hi, Monica.”

I almost left then. What would have happened if I had? I’ve often wondered.

“We got back about an hour ago, hour and a half. Fine. I mean, you know, it was the same. No, no change.”

Blah blah. I didn’t want to hear this.

“Listen-Benny didn’t say anything to you about a fight, did he? At school? When he was over there this afternoon, he didn’t… I didn’t think so. I wouldn’t have known myself if… No, he’s okay; he’s fine. Some kid named Doug. Apparently he said something-”

Don’t tell her! Don’t you dare tell her!

“Kid stuff, nothing really… Yeah. I know. Right, I’m sure he’s bottling up a lot of anger and frustration… Right. Right.”

Right, right. Shut up, Monica, nobody wants to hear your amateur child psychology.

Finally she got to the point. “A picnic?” Sam said, brightening a bit. “Sounds good, we’re free all weekend. Which is better for you? Sunday, then, fewer people than on Labor Day, yeah. Good. Sonoma, too? Great, she’ll love it.”

Thanks for thinking of me.

“Okay, you bring that. I can do-Right, drinks, snacks…”

More blah blah about the portable grill, whose cooler was bigger, did they want lemonade or pop or both. I made myself not imagine it, not romping around with Benny and the twins in some beautiful woodsy, meadowy place, some sylvan spot alive with squirrels and chipmunks, maybe a lake or a stream. Have a great time. Without me. In a negative way, self-pity is very motivating. So long. I slunk toward the door.

“ Patuxent Hills Park? No, we’ve never been there. Sounds good.”

Patuxent Hills Park? Patuxent Hills Park? I sold a house near there, in Brookville, south a little ways on Route 97. The park is only a mile from Hope Springs! As the crow flies-as the dog walks, it’s probably two. Two miles! Through woods and rural lanes and sleepy, high-end housing developments. With sidewalks!

Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God. I collapsed at Sam’s feet-my knees were too weak to hold me up. Gratitude turned my bones to jelly. I rolled over and showed him my belly.

All I had to do was wait till Sunday. Reunion day.

DOGS MUST BE LEASHED AT ALL TIMES

Why couldn’t things ever be easy? No alcoholic beverages, no dumping, no loud music, we close at sundown-I could live with those, but LEASHED AT ALL TIMES was going to be a problem.

So was mud, although not for me. The sun was peeping out between clouds now, but it had rained every day since Thursday and the park was saturated, even the picnic tables under the wooden pavilions. They could’ve postponed until tomorrow-I was afraid they would-but the kids were so wound up, they’d have exploded if the grownups had canceled. Sam said a little rain never hurt anybody, and here we were.

The first order of business, after claiming one of the many empty tables and setting up all the picnic stuff, was a walk. This was my chance-except the person on the other end of the leash was Sam, not Benny or one of the twins. Or best, Monica, whom I’d have had zero guilt about bolting from, preferably with violence. Sam was another story. He was strong, for one thing, but also-this is hard to explain-as pack leader he was someone I had a hard time disobeying. Believe it or not. I’d always thought of us as equals, or if one of us was a tiny bit ascendant, it was me. Not true as man and dog. Sam was alpha.

The river was narrow here, really more of a stream, and swollen from all the rain. This little park fit in an inlet the river made on its way northwest, bisecting two counties. A main trail to the left and a rougher, secondary one to the right followed the water’s twists and turns. We took the main one because it was wider and not as mushy, but even so, sometimes we had to detour into the woods around puddles or stretches of mud. I wanted to run ahead with the children, but I was stuck with Sam and Monica. Plod, plod, stop and look at this, plod some more, shout at the kids to quit doing something or other, plod, plod, stop and look at that. Absolutely no fun at all. Once we ran into two guys coming the other way, and I had to sit down to avoid the rude attentions of their irritating male Shih Tzu. Sometimes, frankly, I didn’t mind that sort of thing, but today was not one of those times.

A moment came when I thought I had a chance.

“Look!” Monica said, stopping, pointing up. “See it? A redheaded woodpecker.”

“Where?”

“Right there. Three, four-five branches up, left side, that maple tree.”

Sam knew birds; they’d become his hobby when we bought the cabin. “I think that’s a red-bellied woodpecker.”

“But it’s got a red head.”

“It’s got a red crown. A redheaded woodpecker’s head is completely red.”

“But where’s its red belly?”

“It’s hard to see; you have to be closer.” His hand went slack during this fascinating conversation, his attention focused completely on the bird. I let the leash go loose to soften him up even more, then gathered my feet under me and leapt.

And almost pulled Sam’s arm out of the socket.

“Hey!”

I’d almost strangled myself, too, but I had the wit to go into a bedlam of barking, pretending I’d seen something incredibly exciting, a rabbit, a deer, an elephant. When Sam told me to cool it, calm down, I obeyed instantly. “Good girl,” he had to admit.

“She is,” Monica agreed, surprised.

“I really think she’s starting to get it.”

Escape-wise, lunchtime was a bust because Sam looped the leash around one leg of the picnic table. Nothing to do but lie down and be good, and munch on tidbits Benny and the twins let fall from time to time.

Sam asked Monica if Benny could stay late at her house on Thursday, and I learned something I didn’t know. “We’re moving up the closing on the cabin,” Sam said. “Guy decided to pay cash, so there’s no reason to wait.”

“Oh,” Monica said. “Well.” And then, when the kids were talking, she said, “I’m sorry,” just loud enough for Sam (and me) to hear.

“No, it’s good. Really. The money’s coming just in the nick.”

Well, didn’t that just tie it. Another reason, as if there weren’t enough already, to act fast. What else could possibly go wrong in the human world?

After lunch, Sam did his disappearing saltshaker trick. I always knew it had to end up in his lap somehow, but I could never figure out how. A new perspective changes everything.