Saturday mornings, unless something else was planned, belonged to pancakes and whatever ridiculous video Noah wanted to film.

The dog appeared in most of them.

In one, Noah interviewed a tomato plant about its career goals.

In another, he gave the kitchen timer an award for excellent service.

The camera had once been his hiding place for a truth he feared speaking.

Now it was a toy again.

That change meant more to me than the court orders, bank records, and settlement documents stacked in the locked cabinet of my office.

One evening I passed his bedroom and heard him singing the old moon song.