My Dog Is a Human Whisperer

On hope and pizza

I’m happily in the kitchen making myself a pizza.

And when you’ve lived with other people for a long time, having the space to cook exactly what you want—undisturbed, at your own pace and time, doing dishes (or not) as you please—is a profound and simple joy.

But there’s another thing that happens every time my wife and son go out of town—and I hate it.

I …