I was returning from the grocery store today, feeling a little sorry for myself that I had to come home to an empty house and unload everything by myself. I pulled into the driveway and hit the button to open the garage. And then I saw a flash of furry joy. Some creature, who I identified a few seconds later as Abe, galloped out from under the rising door, tongue hanging out, front legs kicking up into the air as though he was trying to buck a cowboy off his back. You would have thought he was running out to greet his long-lost mother. I guess, given a dog’s inability to tell time, he kind of was.
“Abe!” I exclaimed to the empty car. The door from the garage into our house doesn’t latch without a solid push. Apparently I hadn’t pushed hard, but Abe had. The door was open.
He jumped in circles around the car. I couldn’t take my foot off the brakes or I might run him over. I opened the car door, and he jumped in. We drove the remaining five feet into the garage.
This was Abe’s little reminder that a house with a dog is never empty.