"Tom," said the puppy, licking Tom's chin, "do you think there's a singular meaning of life for people and puppies?" And Tom said, "I don't know, puppy. It seems to me that there are maybe as many meanings of life as there are people and puppies who live it. What do you think?" And the puppy said, "I don't think there's any singular meaning, either. I'm not even convinced that each life has a unifying meaning of its own. It seems to me that things don't happen for a reason, but that we're capable of retroactively giving meaning to the things that happen to us—especially the terrible things other people do, which are hard to process as meaningless acts, and joyful things, which are so deeply wonderful that it's almost terrifying to imagine they may not have happened but for chance." And Tom said, "I think you're right, puppy." And the puppy nuzzled his nose into the hollow of Tom's shoulder, and Tom gave the puppy a squeeze, as they both quietly marveled at their good fortune to be friends.
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