The Only Thing My Father Still Remembers Is His Dog's Name. We Did Not Understand How Far That Memory Reached — Until the Night the Dog Crossed Five Miles of Town to Reach the Nursing Home.

Synopsis

I need to tell you about Biscuit, and about how my father and Biscuit found each other, because the how of it turns out to matter at the very end. Biscuit is not a young dog. Biscuit is, the vet estimates, about eleven years old now. He is a Labrador-and-something mix — black, going gray heavily around the muzzle, with one ear that stands and one that folds…