The charred remains of the house jut up from the earth like blackened teeth. The snow transforming from white to grey to brown and eventually a sooty black as they walk slowly up the garden path.

Becca draws the children near as Tom takes those extra few steps and disappears into the remains.

She hears a feral howl as Tom releases all the pent up anger, the rage that drove them so far from home. As it tails off she can hear regret, sorrow, the icy twine of loss strangling his voice until it is no more than a whisper.

Then the sobbing starts. She tries to call him back, tries to let him know that the kids are all right, and that’s all that matters, but deep down she knows better. Tom’s loss would always be far greater than hers. He had been the one so close, so intimate with Tammy and Rex.

She busies the kids with snow fights; trying to fill the day with happy memories, as though it could wash all the pain away, make it as clean as the snow by the back gate. Children always try, always make the right noises, make you think any loss is as forgotten as this morning’s meal. Becca wondered though, the fear of later outbursts lying heavy on her heart.

Leaving them safely playing, she picks carefully through the door that would now never seal the house from the cold again. Everything inside is distorted, twisted by heat, blackened by soot. Even the heart of the kitchen is now listless. The permanent heat of a working home replaced by an oppressive cold that would envelope her long after they left.

She finds Tom in the master bedroom, sitting bowlegged in the dog-basket, staring at where Tammy and Rex would cling to each other close each night, their impressions still visible, frozen there by firemen’s water. Tom is sobbing, quietly but fitfully.

This was where they had died, their faithful friends through her pregnancy and the first month of their children’s life. Without them, she knew that Tom would never see their family as complete, never feel whole again. The relationship between master and dog too deep to be separated by a mere fire, too strong for the vast chasm of death alone to cut every tie that binds.

Doing her best to comfort her partner, she beckons Tom back to the garden. The children would be getting cold, they needed to move on, find somewhere new.

As they padded out through the hole in the back fence, the baleful look in Tom’s eyes and his drooping tail told her that no matter where they ended up, no matter how far they travelled, this would always be his home, and Tammy and Rex would always be his masters.