Every Christmas, Nardo would pick up his toys one by one, howling his hunter’s howl, and put them under the tree with the presents.
Without him to hunt them now, his toys sit unused at the foot of the bed, on top of the chest we keep there.
I pick up a stuffed toy robin, walk into the living room, and place it under the tree.
I look at the robin sitting there, just like years before.
I’d say “Good boy!” and pet him, and he’d go back for more.
But it’s not the same.
Because I forgot to howl.