I vividly remember the day Duke disappeared.

My family was spending the day at the lake next to our 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 neighbor, for miles, an old retired police officer named Benny, was smoking on

his patio.

I waived to him and he waived back.

We were in the dog days of summer and I was just 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 frisbees and sticks off the dock, where 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 towering hardwoods and conifers, scanning them to see what

Duke was looking at.

It was nothing, at least to me.

What followed was a blur.

Duke suddenly bolted for the trees, barking and snarling all while we were screaming

his name.

...