Ever get the feeling when a dog approaches and interacts with you on the street that part of your great-grandfather’s soul is in that dog? And that’s why after greeting you like he knows you, he leads you up the block to the gate of the apartment building you’re looking for. This building, you just learned through an archival research find you’ve been digging for the past few weeks, was the building your great-grandparents had lived in. So you follow the dog up to the gate, he wags his tail, but you tell him you don’t know the code to get in.
Then the dog’s human walks up the street and opens the gate. They go in and the dog’s human holds the gate open for you. You walk through and into the courtyard your great-grandparents must have walked through a thousand times. You watch as the dog and its human go into the building that your great-grandparents lived in. You can see that as they go up several flights of stairs, each time they ascend to a new floor and pass the window that looks out to the courtyard, the dog pauses and looks out directly at you, perhaps somewhat wistfully, until his human beckons him to follow. Ever get that feeling that a part of your great-grandfather is looking at you through those dog’s eyes?