The story which follows is what might be called "plausible fiction."  To the best of my knowledge, it hasn't happened.  Yet it certainly could happen.  I am sure there are those who will consider this an "animal story."  I do not consider it such.  It is the story of a man and a dog, neither of whom is especially distinctive,...and of their relationship, which is!
     The man is elderly.  He has recently lost his wife.  The dog is young.  Caged at the humane society, she needs to find a friend.  Mr. Courtney is a retiree.  Sadie is a refugee.
     It was, predictably, love at first sight.  The puppy, a shepherd mix with large floppy ears and enormous paws was full  of love and ungainliness.  The stooped gentleman with a hat too small for his head wore clothes too big for his body.
     They became the best of friends.  Each one filling a giant void in the other's life.  The pup loved to hear her master whistle classical music as he went about his daily chores.  The man was grateful for someone to care for, to talk to, and alert him when other people came to his tidy little house.
     In time the dog grew into her ears and paws; the man forgetting the void left by his wife's passing.  Together the man and dog went everywhere: shopping, sightseeing in the country, out to supper...camping.
     It was on one of those camping sorties that one of life's unpredictable adventures began.  It was an odyssey which would profoundly affect both man and dog.
     They pulled in to the campground beside a free-flowing river in mid-afternoon.  Since it was the middle of the week, the campground was almost deserted.  The old man started methodically setting up camp.  He selected a clear, level campsite; pitched his small, easy-to-assemble two-man tent; cleaned out the fire pit; and together man and dog went for a walk along the river collecting firewood.
     As lengthening shadows infiltrated the campground, the old man cooked his supper over a open pine fire.  Several times grease from the hot fire spattered upon his hands.  He just smiled, held on tightly to the pan, and let the grease add another memorable scar to his already wonderfully-expressive hands.  When his supper was finished cooking, he asked Sadie to go fetch her pan.  They dined together in firelight beneath a rising canopy of stars.  Tired from the long drive and the brisk pine-clad air, the old man retired early; his dog sleeping peacefully in the tent beside him.  Each was grateful for the warmth provided by the other against the quickening night coolness.
     He was awakened in the middle of the night by a rising crescendo of coyote music.  He lay still listening to the tremolo of the pack; the voices of certain individuals as  distinctive as those of humans.  It was a wild eerie sound; one which touched the old man's soul.  He wondered what it would be like to run free, to feel the ground speeding beneath their feet in the fever of the chase, to live continually in wilderness, to understand the fundamentals of survival we humans have forgotten.
     He thought of his dog lying beside him, was she not entitled to choose that kind of a life for herself?  In the quiet dark he contemplated what few would: allowing his beloved pet the chance to commingle her destiny with that of a pack of wild coyotes.
     As the sun was just beginning to color the eastern sky, the old man opened the tent flap and allowed his dog to slip out into the clinging mist.  He saw her disappear into a pack of wagging tails.  He waited breathlessly wondering if she would return.  In the distance he heard a rolling cloud of sound as the coyotes moved down the valley.
     At dusk he sat close to his fire listening for the sound of coyote music.  Instead all he heard was the forlorn call of a whippoorwill.  The next day he broke camp, certain that his beloved friend had made her choice.  Hoping she would be happy with her decision.
     Through the autumn and winter months the dog ran with the pack, seemingly happy.  Yet something was missing.  At times she would stop suddenly as if listening intently for the strains of Tchaikovsky or Mozart, Beethoven or Brahms.
     Faithfully spring came to the land.  Frequently the dog would slip in to the campground on the chance that the old man might return.  Always she would watch from a distance only to turn slowly away to rejoin the pack when it was clear that her old friend was not there.
     Then, on impulse, the old man decided to go camping again to his old haunts--hoping that he might get a glimpse of his friend.
     Starless the night descended upon the campground.  His warm fire appeared like an eye blinking in the darkness.  The dog came silently.  She sat for a long time watching his familiar, deliberate movements.  Softly he began whistling one of his classical favorites.
     She slipped through the darkness into the rim of firelight.  At first the man failed to discern her presence.  Then he knew she was there.  "Hello, old friend, I was hoping I'd see you again," he said softly.  Without hesitating the dog darted past him and fetched her pan. As she brought it proudly to him, the old man buried his face in her neck and wept unashamedly!