"Ronan is the shitbag," Adam says, thinking back to a warm autumn day, an overpacked Camaro. It's strange to think of that day, in the midst of so many miracles, being a simpler time.

Copper pants, her tail wagging in anticipation. She's a true hound dog, ready to stick by her human's side and walk for miles and miles and be happy about it. For a second, Adam entertains the image of Copper managing to exhaust herself on pure excitement. Then they all three fall into a kind of formation and she settles, head and paw raised, a sight hound ready to search.

"You won't forget. Not on Noah's birthday."