Was it the wind howling? Or an animal?

I should have been scared. But the sound contained an unexpected familiarity.

Sleep quickly reclaimed my consciousness.

*

Morning. I pulled the bedroom curtains and was dazzled by the whiteout.

Forecast. Beautiful but inconvenient.

My inner artist saw the snowfield as a blank canvas upon which to paint my presence.

Dressing quickly, I bypassed breakfast and ventured into the back garden.

Cold, but exhilarating. The crisp snow crunched beneath my boots.

Dangling icicles transformed the conifers into living Christmas trees.

But the tracks leading to and from the pond told me I was not the first visitor that morn.

Paws. Dog paws.

I picked up the bone, stripped bare. Pig’s femur? Mmm. Dutch loved pork.

What the…?

I followed the paw trail down to the icy water. Tearfully brushed the snow off Dutch’s memorial.

Something magical happened.

A miasma emanated from the marble plaque, consolidating into a black labrador.

My beloved dog, dead six months, stood before me.

      “So, you worked it out.”

A soft Aberdonian accent.

      “You can speak?” I was incredulous.

      “I always could, but never needed to.”

      “So…”

      “I have things to tell you. There is life after death. I want your spirit to live again, with mine.”

      “I’m not ready to face death.”

      “You need to get ready. Your demise is imminent. I’ve seen your future. That’s why I’m here.”

Stunned. I froze.

      “Do you remember Confiteor Dei?”

      “Yeee..s.”

      “Say it now!”

Something insistent in the labrador’s tone overcame my disbelief.

      “I confess, to Almighty God…”

I finished the prayer and looked to the heavens.

An icy javelin detached itself from a branch, penetrating my right eye, piercing my brain.

*

Dutch was licking my face.

      “Welcome to our shared afterlife. It can all begin again.”

.