A tail as old as time

The sun is setting over downtown Maple Ridge and the buildings are a hazy silhouette partially obscuring an amber skyline. Quinn, my smallish dog, is perched on the back of the sofa, gazing at the vista. He routinely takes in the scenery, but especially as day fades to night you’ll reliably find him here, peering off into the distance. He appears mindful. We humans often take photos of sunsets, apply a filter, add some hashtags, and then go back to whatever’s on T.V. Not Quinn. He appears fully invested in this time, seemingly embodying the #YOLO mentality we espouse but fail to manifest. We all get a finite number of sunsets in our lives, and he’s going to make the most of his.

Lately I’ve taken to sitting beside him in these quiet moments. I’m unsure if he appreciates my company or if my presence is an intrusion to his solitary contemplations — he only briefly glances at me as I settle into a pillowy nook. As darkness creeps toward the horizon, streetlights wink on, drawing his attention. Quinn can be high-strung, but at this moment he is serene. We both are. He makes me more thoughtful and more empathetic. My relationship with Quinn is a legacy — the modern embodiment of an ancient compact. It’s a primeval truce between disparate species that developed into a deep and lasting bond. It’s true that dogs would not be dogs without humans, but people would not be people without dogs. Like a river that carves out the landscape, altering its course over time, human beings have been intimately transformed through our canine connection...

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