Right now, Miles Major looks like a dog who has been through some things and, against all logic, decided to stay gentle anyway. He’s five years old and only 37 pounds — light in your hands, a little bonier than he should be — which makes you want to cook him something warm and nourishing and watch him eat until his sides round out. His coat is soft as worn flannel, the kind of soft that makes you keep petting long after you mean to stop. And his eyes are wide and impossibly kind, On leash, he doesn’t surge ahead or lag behind. His precious little head bobs next to your knee, lifting his gaze from time to time as if to say, "We’re okay, right?" If you’re lucky, you may catch the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly into a contented smile. Some dogs arrive like fireworks. Miles arrives like a lamp left on in the kitchen. Steady. Warm. Waiting for you to come home.