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Tiffany into the world of her much younger self.
    And her grandmother.
    Tiffany was walking home with a half dozen or so middle-school aged friends all of whom attended PS 8 in Brooklyn Heights. Free from school at the end of the day, the scent of early spring filled her senses, ripe with floral sweetness, the spice of fresh-trimmed grass and warm sunlight. Charging through the door she was greeted promptly by Duke, her family pet, a Doberman pinscher.
    “Hey, Duke!” Tiffany squatted to give him a proper greeting. That meant a series of ear scratches, some playful pets and a big neck hug. The dog hopped and licked, then bounded immediately for the living room at the rear of their home. To grandma.
    Duke belonged to Tiffany’s Nana Jayne, who had moved in with the family two years ago after being diagnosed with a rapidly deteriorating case of Alzheimer’s. She couldn’t live on her own any longer, and Nana Jayne’s cognitive abilities diminished by the day, but Duke’s presence always soothed her. Duke was a devoted and loyal member of the family. Beyond that, he was her grandma’s buddy, companion, and they shared a mutual, loving trust.
    “Duke, who’s there?”
    Deceivingly feisty and strong, Nana Jayne’s voice carried to the foyer, so did a playful, whooping bark of reply.
    “It’s just me, Nana. Want some cheese and crackers?” Tiffany hiked her backpack and made for the kitchen. Cheese, crackers and market-fresh fruit were an after-school tradition these days, one she enjoyed sharing with Nana, so she started prepping a plate.
    Silence stretched, which caused Tiffany to puzzle until a thready, fear-stained voice just barely reached her ears. “Who? Who’s there? Who’s here? Who is it?”
    Snacks with Nana would have to wait. She didn’t recognize Tiffany’s voice. A dull, throbbing ache built at the center of her chest. Ignoring their food, Tiffany joined Nana and found her hunkered beneath an afghan she had crocheted decades ago; but it was warm outside. Summer was coming, full of running and games and sun and vacations and—
    Poor Nana . Tiffany bit her lower lip to stem the threat of tears.
    Seated proudly—tenderly—next to Nana was Duke, just like a furry guard. When Nana Jayne registered Tiffany’s approach, fear lit her grandmother’s eyes. She reached for her dog, for protection, resting a quivering hand against Duke’s thickly muscled neck. The attentive animal simply laid his head on the armrest of the recliner, offering his companionship even as Nana’s gaze touched Tiffany with the horrid emptiness of unrecognition.
    Tiffany longed to break down and weep. She was becoming more and more of a stranger to her grandma, and the moment marked one of many good-byes they had been forced to endure.
    But through those darkest moments, a saving grace had been found in Duke. Watching Duke interact with her grandma led Tiffany to the realization that there were tangible ways for animals to help people. Animals could—if only for moments at a time—be instrumental in rousing awareness and a sense of normalcy.
    Months passed, during which Tiffany’s parents agonized before making the decision to move Nana Jayne to an assisted living facility. It was autumn by then, and fire-kissed leaves danced on brisk currents of air that tugged and pulled, sending summer relentlessly into the dormant seasons of fall and winter. It was the year Tiffany entered high school. Ensconced at the Kenwood Senior Home, her grandma’s mental acuity decreased with every visit—until Nana spotted Duke. Only then would her eyes light with pure joy; only then would she relax fully and rest her tired head upon the shoulders of her dog.
    Sensing the benefit of interaction, eager to do anything they could to help Nana Jayne, Tiffany’s parents made sure every family visit included Duke. Tiffany, meanwhile, catalogued each spark of recognition, clinging to the power of a bond she now knew was an innocent hope that Duke