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and we stayed up to watch the stars. That’s when he told me about Sirius, the dog star. Brightest in the sky. I paid attention when he talked about it because it’s in Canis Major, the big dog constellation.
    I thought it might be cool to name my dog Sirius. Now,as I look for it, I think it’s perfect that there’s a giant dog in the sky looking down at me — a tiny moving speck on a small street.
    We walk down Mahon Avenue in the middle of the night. I feel alive. I feel bright somehow. The dog’s bouncing along ahead of me and a few cars drive past, but no one stops or honks or seems surprised there’s a kid walking around this late. I guess if I look like I have somewhere to be, like I belong here, no one cares. I’m tall for my age, and with my hood pulled up, maybe I can pass for older. I take bigger steps. It starts to feel like I imagined it would.
    We walk all the way to the Quay, where the tug boats and ferries are moored. The dog doesn’t come up to me, but he stays close, and if I get too slow he waits for me. He pees on
everything
. I wonder what would happen if I peed on something, and since I have to go anyway, I step behind a tree and pee on the trunk. The dog turns around to see what I’m doing. He sniffs the spot for a long time.
    â€œI know marking with pee is really important for dogs, but you’re kind of obsessive.”
    As if to reply, he lifts his leg and pees right next to my spot.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I ask him. There’s no collar around his neck. Maybe he’s a stray.
    He looks across the street to the empty parking lot in front of the water. I haven’t been down here in a long time, not since last time I took the Seabus, when Aunt Laura and I went to see an Imax movie downtown. It was her first try at us doing something together, and even though the movie was a lame animation, I pretended to like it. She pretended to like it too and we had this weird conversation where we tried to act like we enjoyed it when it was obvious neither of us did.
    Now there’s a new pier beside the parking lot, reaching out into the sea, and the dog heads for it. He trots across the road like there’s no worry about cars — and there aren’t many this late, but I wonder what happens during the day, if he’s ever been hit. Some dogs just don’t understand cars.
    I follow him across the parking lot and we walk down the pier. He jumps onto the short cement wall and trots along it, glancing into the water. He’s just so sure of himself. Like I want to be — confident and not afraid of anything. Cool.
    I jump up too and we look out over the black ocean, toward downtown and the lights of the skyscrapers. They’re way brighter down here, not dim and twinkly like they are from my house. I guess it’s a little like stars — it depends where you’re seeing them from.
    The dog comes to the end of the pier and jumps off the wall. He sniffs around for a while, but I stay up there, watching the ocean. Suddenly a dark round head comes up from the water.
    â€œHey!” I shout.
    I feel a breeze beside me and the dog’s there, looking over the side too. It’s like he’s saying,
What is it
?
    â€œOver there.” I motion out on the water.
    The head bobs, and then I see it’s got a snout. A seal.
    The dog sniffs the air, staring at the seal too. He leans a little over the edge.
    â€œWhoa, don’t fall in,” I say. I put my hand on his back, the coarse fur on top. It’s cool on my skin, but underneath, the soft fur is warm. I wish we could just stand there together, but after a minute he jumps down again. He felt so solid.
    I look back at the way we’ve come. From here I can see all the way up the hill — the main street with lights along it and houses on both sides. Some have lights on but mostdon’t. I try to figure out where mine would be. I’m getting a