Writing "Treeman" posed unusual challenges. How do you stay close to Mark, the oldest Gospel, without the dialogue most fiction relies upon? Dogs don't talk, after all. How do you stay true to canine senses and behavior, like red-green color-blindness and perpetual interest in food, through these shattering events? How would this scarred, abused mongrel react to the miracles, the snap of torches, the roar of crowds? What would he make of the one on whom it all hinged: Treeman? The dying dog's blunt viewpoint demands we rethink stories many of us have heard since childhood. But "Treeman" is also about aging without whining or backbiting, a supreme witness to a life lived longing to trust and to be trusted.