Life’s grandest question

Our two golden retrievers pulled towards Mr. Johnson’s open garage door, a sure sign of his presence. Our entry into the garage prompted the elderly Mr. Johnson to look up. A man known to the neighborhood pups for his bottomless bag of bacon treats, Mr. Johnson gave a silent nod.

He shuffled painfully towards us, back unnaturally stooped, skin ashen gray, movements painfully slow. Ordinarily, his posture was consistent with the Marine Corps flag that flew at the end of the driveway; something...