Smell Is the Coordinate of Memory

My nose remembers everything. I remember the smell of the rust of the iron cage, the smell of soap on his fingertips, the fragrance of her hair, and the smell of milk on that little life. My eyes are brown and my body is slightly yellow (this may be why some people call me a golden retriever). My life is a long journey of scent. From the turbid beginning of the breeding farm, to the instant noodles and loneliness in the single dormitory, to the complex symphony of a home gradually being filled with love. I lay there in time, watching him change from a eloquent boy, to a helpless husband, and then to a little guy's exclusive hero. At this moment, I was lying in a strange yard. The soil here has the smell of roots that I don't recognize, and the wind brings with it the aroma of rice and distant cooking smoke. It smells good. It just doesn't smell like him. My name is Lucky, and I have gone by many names: Luck, Gouzi, and Largo. I am a golden retriever. I have learned to love, wait and say goodbye in my life. If you're ready, I want to take you to smell the scents that make up my entire universe.