Emma dog is going to college. She’s going to learn how to write a master’s thesis and how to teach English to high school students.
There’s a reason for this. Two weeks ago, when I drove into the driveway at 8:30 from teaching my classes, I found the garage doors open – front and back, the door into the house wide open, and all the lights on. Bo was in the backyard picking up leaves. No dog. He didn’t recall any dog and wasn’t concerned.
After looking for her everywhere in the yard and house, I called the police and three friends who rushed over to help. We drove around for about half an hour in the dark, hoping to see a brown dog. I went to the soccer field and asked if she had been there; no one had seen her. I was desperate, especially because the next day I would drive to my hometown for my mother’s burial. Bo’s brother would be here at the house for the two days I would be gone.
Then I got a call from the patrolman. “Do you have two brown dogs?”
“No, just one.”
“I just stopped at the house to talk to you, and a brown dog came to the door,” he said.
She was inside! How did she get there? I don’t know. No words can describe how relieved I was.
Now, unless Emma goes to visit with a friend, as she did last Monday, I’m packing up her water bowl and rug and she’s going to class with me. She’s so good, so quiet, she’ll just lie there by my desk patiently.
Another problem solved but I know it won’t be too long until I’ll need to consider having someone at the house while I go to teach.