With the events of March, we had left those days behind. Never again did Tess play Frisbee with us. It was weeks before she could even walk. She had the heart of a lion. The same way my dying father had struggled for that last, delicious breath of air, Tess—deaf, wobbly, and now nearly blind—had fought for a life she still found full of joy and meaning, rich with scent, full of tasty treats, and secure in the company of those she most loved. By
