Bang bang bang bang bang!
In rural Vermont, it is a shock to hear someone banging on the door at 8:30 in the evening.
“I didn’t know what to do,” said the nice man in the baseball cap. “There is this big black dog in the middle of the road, looking like a deer in the headlights.”
Oh. I see her, and I let out the universal puppy call. “Puppy, puppy, puppy, puppy-eeeee”
And the dog head back down the side road along my property.
“Ah, uh, okay,” says the nice man, who then leaves me to watch for the dog.
Sure enough, I get into the car and head down the side road. There’s the dog, but when I stop, it moves on. I toss my cookies in the dog’s directions—the dog biscuits in my sweater pocket—but no joy. The dog is having none of this. I give up, and turn my car back toward home when the owner meets me on the way.
“Her name is Love,” he says, “I guess she must have followed my truck.”
They say that great new jobs and wonderful love does not come to find you in the confines of your home. Today I wonder.