i took yesterday afternoon walk off and i always feel guilty so doing. i rub his head before i leave, i'm sorry, i know he feels my despondency and i know he gets despondent too. today is worse for the wind is brushing through the salty ice stone glass fake canyons. he stops in a thick crust of aqua salt, turns and looks toward home. i think it's the salt burning his soft pads. i lead him to the snow side. he holds his paw up. i clean his paw. he stands mute and still. let's go home mister i say, and he runs. 
back home i open my laptop at david's desk. he's been gone three years. they're having a memorial jin ping mei symposium in new york for him, and for the scoffing scholars of the world in his wake. his dog mister lays by his chair and i rub his head, my bodhisattva dog, and tell him i'll be here all the way and he raises his eyebrows and sighs audibly. again, i rub his head again.