Chetspeak on Sunday
Oops. Racing around the parking lot in tight little circles, ears flat back from the breeze? That might have been me. I got a grip, walked in a dead-straight line at Bernie’s side, head up, tail up, beyond reproach, whatever that meant exactly. We were close enough to see our bumper sticker from Max’s Memphis Ribs, our favorite restaurant in the whole Valley – hadn’t been there in way too long – and the bullet hole in our license plate, can’t go into that now, when the door of the red car opened and the woman stepped out.
“Bernie Little?” she said.
Women of a certain type have an effect on Bernie. This was that type of woman, easy to see just from the way Bernie’s mouth fell slightly open. Curvy shape: check. Big blue eyes: check. Face tilted up in his direction: check. Poor Bernie: that was all it took.
-from The Dog Who Knew Too Much.
Welcome Maddie (a dead ringer for Pearl) and Ranger.
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