Last night I dreamed that I had a dog—a Husky, of the type that my father had when we were young; probably a mutt, big, white, and strong. This dog was dying, a sudden turn. As he died we were surrounded by water and I was dragging him through an open sea. When finally I pushed him ashore, he was gone. Anxious, I ran to fetch the family. When we returned the dog stirred, animated…but it was not the same dog. Now it was a Malamute: big and strong as the first, but marked with black. And it was female, nursing a pup. And everyone moved on, satisfied that it had all been some kind of misunderstanding.
I awoke in the early hours this morning to a text from my father: “Jack committed suicide last night.”
I fell back into a curious, fitful sleep.
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