Find your voice, they said, and so he did. In fact, he found several. And truth be told, they found him, but so what? Why shouldn’t they still be his? Like the muddle of puppies that showed up on his doorstep, they came to him naked, alone, with crusted eyes and velvety bellies and he dripped warm milk from a syringe into the corner folds of their mouths. Then they were his. He knew them, he owned them, and when he lay down with them at nights their hot breath in his ear was his comfort and his only protection.