I vividly remember the day Duke disappeared. My family was spending the day at the lake

next to a little bungalow at a quaint property in northern Ontario. All four of us were swimming

and splashing around in the warm lake water, attempting to quell the blistering August

heat. Our only neighbour for miles, an old retired

police officer named Benny, was smoking on his patio. I waved to him and he waved back.

I knew you were in the dog days of summer and I was glad to be in the water. Duke loved

the water as much as I did and was still very energetic, being a large middle-aged mutt.

We would often throw frisk business sticks off the dock and he would take flying leaps

into the blue green lake. That's exactly what we were doing when he vanished.

As I was drawing back my hand to throw the frisbee for Duke, who was anticipating a throw

and getting ready to run, he suddenly whipped his head to the woods. I too looked back at

the rows of tearing hardwoods and conifers, scanning them to see what Duke was looking

at. There was nothing, at least to me. What followed was a blur. Duke suddenly bolted

for the trees, barking and snarling while we were screaming his name. I screamed at my

parents to get out of the water and help me chase him. I even saw Benny spring out of

his rocking chair to help us. I ran as fast as my nine-year-old legs could carry me into

the dense forest, twigs and debris snapping under my feet. But you can only get so far

and flip-flops before you trip. I tumbled to the ground, screaming and crying after accidentally

scraping my leg against a sharp rock. My mum consoled me while I caught a glimpse of

my dad running through the woods. It was a while before my dad and Benny came back.

My dad had a somber look on his face. He didn't have to tell us what we already knew, but

Benny looked shaken. I'm sorry folks, he ain't coming back. He said, shakily. He took

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