Aaron's dog, Hennessey, is lying at my feet, his nose buried in one of Aaron's military-issue duffle bags. He breathes deeply, taking in the smells that must be locked in the fibers and that unleash for him memories of his master. With each breath, the truck rides he shared with Aaron must be parading through his mind. With each breath, he must be recalling the security and happiness he felt when snuggled next to Aaron in bed. Hennessey is deep in the past, and I imagine that he is cherishing Aaron's unexpected return in the form of smells we can't detect. How De'on and I envy a dog's nose right now.

The duffel bag is one of two Aaron left the last time he came home. We didn't take out this duffel bag so that Hennessey could use it to recall a master he hasn't seen in 2 1/2 years. We took it out of its storage space to look at the date on the airline's tag so we could verify when Aaron arrived home for the last time. But then Hennessey walked up to it, pushed it against the coffee table and buried his nose in it. It's his now.

The other duffle bag is stuffed with the clothes and equipment I'm taking to Iraq. De'on gave it to me a month ago, and, today, we talked about how two years ago, when the duffel bag was stored in a drawer in Aaron's room, that it wouldn't have crossed anyone's mind that it would journey back to the country where Aaron was killed fighting insurgents. But two years ago, I had no thoughts of going to Iraq, either. It might be strange to some people, but toting the duffel bag over there comforts me. I think of it as a talisman against any injury. It's the tangible evidence that Aaron will be with me. The other duffel bag also is tangible proof to a master's beloved dog that he is still with him. Each deep breath Hennessey takes confirms it.