We went home late on a Friday night. I opened the door slowly, just like I used to so that Whisky will not come running out of the doorway to greet us. But that night, there was no wagging tail, no excited little jumps to welcome us in. No dog came running to place his favorite toy before our feet. That night, what greeted us was the deafening void—an absence of barks that meant the house was empty, that our little Whisky was not there anymore. But somehow, if I shut my ears and allow my heart to listen, I hear his bark still echo in the void.

https://opinion.inquirer.net/164249/your-bark-still-echoes-in-the-void

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