The vision is always there.

The vision is always there. Some days weaker, some stronger, some it almost looks as it lies dormant. But it is there all along. And the vision brings both an eerie and pleasant sense of tedious familiarity, odd as this sounds. He'll open the gate of the house by the sea wide open, or he'll doze in the garden under the shadow of the pine trees, or he'll clear the table in the balcony, or he may just as well be getting ready for a stroll along the promenade, the same familiar image will just reveal itself again in a fleeting glimpse. Treu will race towards him, he'll jump in absolute joy, he'll do his tricks to earn his prize, he'll stare at him with his loyal, friendly stare, such was his stare, loving and true. The man will stop in his tracks, trying to cope with that image of his long dead dog that so suddenly will have appeared, powerful and touching, leaving him with a few seconds of confusion and no little struggle to regain self-control.