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In the midst of my land there is a thick, swampy grove where no human goes. It is a haven for snakes, root rot, mosquitoes, burrowing critters, and fox. On my walks, I give it a wide berth. In my mind, I figure it to be where wild things go to peacefully leave this world. I call it the Bog. On the day that cries of a wounded animal drew me into the Bog, I was no different than you. Now, I understand the choices that dogs make and how they were selected to be man's best friend. I understand the source of their soul and their place in the hereafter. I see then as messengers and guardians. I...