“Mrs. Reed? Roger’s at my gate again!”
The front door creaked open, revealing a petite, elderly woman in a fluffy pink robe. She peered out, squinting against the morning light.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Reed sighed. “I’m sorry, Tracy. I don’t know how he keeps getting out.”
“He’s just bored,” I said, offering a smile. “Do you have his leash?”
“Yes, one moment.”
Together, we walked toward my gate, where Roger was still enthusiastically scratching at the wood.
“Here, Roger!” I called.
He paused mid-scratch, turning his head toward me. His jaw slackened, and a tooth fell out, landing in the dirt. I pretended not to notice. He shuffled in my direction, his mismatched shoes flapping—one untied.
“That’s it. Come on, now.”
Mrs. Reed used the opportunity to sidle up, snapping his leash onto the collar around his sagging neck.
“There we go,” I said cheerfully.
“Thank you, dear,” said Mrs. Reed, patting Roger’s arm. “If he keeps this up, I’ll have him neutered!”
We both laughed and I wished her a pleasant day as she led Roger home. This was the second time in a month that I had awakened to find Mr. Reed clawing at my front gate. I understood though; he’d only been dead for about six months and still had a lot of energy.
My own brother had been the same way until one of his legs had fallen off and he’d been obliged to sit in one spot. He still tried to bite anyone who walked past though. I never could break him of that particular habit.
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