Molly came just in time for Christmas, delivered to us in a big black pickup truck. She smells like a puppy and when you hold her close she buries her wet nose in your hair. Her belly is warm and she is soft. She reminds me of when Jack was a puppy: when he put his two paws around your neck and even though he was a dog, he knew he held you close. Molly came for Christmas. I hope she stays for a long time. My Jack, he was never meant to stay long. He left us in September the same way he came to us: happy-go-lucky, like he didn’t even know he was dying. He will never be replaced, his soulful eyes, the way he hid our shoes and chewed our hats and thumped his tail and ran to the door to greet us with his inscrutable happy noises. The way he jumped in your lap when you were sad because he knew, and he soaked up your tears with golden fur. My heart is still broken, but holding this puppy to my chest helps me heal. And I am grateful.