This is my dog, Norma.
She’s a cockapoo. We got her 10 years ago, and she’s the greatest dog on the planet. She snuggles, she cuddles, she sleeps on the end of the bed, she makes endearing sighing noises and protects us from the evil that is a knock on the door, or a nearby canine.
Greatest. Dog. Ever.
I consider Norma to be one of my closest friends. And, I assume, she sees me the same way. I feed her carrots on special occasions, I take her along on car rides, I fill her water bottle, lead her on good walks. She’s one of the great all-time companions.
Anyhow, a few moments ago someone came by to pick Norma up. I’m going out of town, and I need someone to watch her. I packed up her stuff—her food, her favorite toy, her dish. It was sad, as it’s always sad. And I presumed Norma felt similarly.
Then, the door opened …
And Norma dashed out and hopped into the dog watcher’s car.
She didn’t even look back.