People brought flowers, balloons, photographs, and small decorations.
Yet this dog always chose Caleb.
One day, I asked the groundskeeper about him.
His name was Edwin, an older man who had worked at the cemetery for so long that he seemed to recognize nearly every regular visitor.
I nodded toward the dog.
“Does he belong to someone?”
Edwin glanced over.
He shrugged.
The dog had been showing up for a while, he said, but nobody seemed to know where he came from.
“Nobody feeds him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“He doesn’t stay here?”
Edwin shook his head.
That answer only made me
more curious.
I started watching the dog whenever I visited.
He always seemed calm.
But every so often, he would stare toward the cemetery entrance as if he were waiting for someone.
