Prologue
Welcome, mere traveler. You have wandered here, perhaps by accident, perhaps in search of something you cannot name. Do not worry; you are in the right place. What you will find are not miracles, but the ordinary rhythms of a dog’s life, scratched out between naps and walks, stitched together with patience and curiosity.
I am Rolex, a dog of modest habits, unusual patience, and sheer will. Others chase balls for sport; I chase them for understanding. Why does one bounce high and another low? Why is one soft and another hard? Why, when I return it loyally, does the ball sometimes vanish, replaced by a leash—was that the prize all along? And what do men mean when they pretend to throw, when no ball leaves their hand? Do they not realize they exhaust themselves more in trickery than in play?
These questions follow me beyond the field and into the house. A ball returned is not so different from a guest received: both require judgment, both invite consequences. When a stranger enters, I sniff him carefully and then let him be—for what real harm can he bring? But when family returns, I bark without hesitation. A bark is not suspicion but celebration—the only kind of welcome worthy of those who belong.
Stay, if you like. Turn the page, if you dare. At worst, you will have wasted a few minutes. At best, you may discover that the life of one dog contains enough for a book, and perhaps enough to keep a traveler walking a little further, if only out of curiosity.
