I was looking for a phone charger. That is the last point in this story at which I was behaving normally. In my wife’s bedside drawer, I found something green. With a button. Whatever you just pictured: yes. My brain went there too. Except mine immediately hired a lawyer. A small, sensible part of me suggested asking my wife what it was. Unfortunately, that part of me apparently has no voting rights. I picked it up. It had some weight to it. Suspicious. It was underneath a book. Concealed. Also suspicious. Please understand that once you’ve decided you’re a detective, even somebody reading becomes evidence. I pressed the button. It yodeled. I cannot adequately explain how unprepared my theory was for Alpine folk music. Then I heard claws on the hallway floor. Our Labrador came around the corner, parked himself directly in front of me, and performed the most professional sit of his career. He knew the sound. He knew the procedure. Somehow, I interpreted this as further evidence that I ...
“Nobody should get to make the decision to end their life.” The words escaped his lips with such conviction that, for a moment, I almost envied him. There was something revolting about the certainty in his voice. Not the words themselves, perhaps, but the ease with which he could say them. But, perhaps that’s what kept him alive, the conviction, the belief, the dedication that nobody should get to end any life because of the repercussions it has on others. “Is that what’s keeping you alive?” It took me a few minutes to cough out, a live debate in my head. I didn’t care what was keeping him alive, I was just curious. But curiosity is what kills the cat. He seemed taken aback by the question. For a moment, the certainty that had filled the room just seconds earlier appeared to falter. “It’s one of the reasons, the others are more complex.” he said. I wondered whether he had expected me to accept that answer. Whether he thought it was enough. I didn’t dig deeper. I didn’t want to fi...