Where Is Wilken? (opens in new tab)

“It was Wicas,” my son told me. “Or something similar.” We were sitting at a café terrace, waiting for our coffee, and I had just remarked that I ought to stop at the house where the old yellow dog had lived and ask the owner his name. It had been less than a week since I’d walked by one morning and discovered that the dog wasn’t there. The chain was missing from the ring in the cement by the doghouse. Sad, I’d thought, walking on. Sad, but considering how sometimes the dog barely had the str...