I drove to his house. He was there and answered the door.“Bill, what are you doing here?” he asked when he saw me. My face must have alerted him t... the serious nature of my visit. “Is it Melissa? What’s happened? Is she alright?” His questions came flooding out, faster than I could track them.“Dave, can we sit down?” I asked, gesturing inside. He stepped back and let me in.“Sure, but where’s Melissa? Is she okay?”We sat down in his formal living room. From its pristine state, I was sure it got. In the colder months my owner is generous andlets me resume my place at the foot of the bed.SundaySunday mornings are usually filled by me trying to absorb enough food tocounterbalance the exertion of running around on all fours and being aparty hound for a day and a half while my owner recovers from the nightbefore. If it is sunny I can spend most of the day laying out in the sun.If it's cold the I usually just stay in my doghouse.Once the Sun goes down on a Sunday night my owner will take me. More

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