After a series of cool days, the temperature rose. Once I walked Elliot, I decided to work in my front garden and surrounding property. I left the dog in the house with Bill, grabbed the rake, and began tackling, the fallen leaves, twigs and branches.
When I returned to the house, I could not find Elliot. I searched each room and checked the backyard. ( The door was open.) I could not find him.
I began to panic. Had I unknowingly left the front door ajar? Did he get out?’
“It’s impossible,” Bill said. “The door was closed.”
“Maybe I left it open when I went out. I don’t think so, but maybe I did.”
“It’s impossible,” Bill kept saying.
“I’m going to look for him.”
I left the house, jumped in the car, and checked the neighborhood, calling, in case Elliot had left the roads. Unsuccessful, I returned the car and walked up other streets where we had walked together. No one had seen him.
I was frantic. He was only a puppy. He had health problems. He needed me.
Maybe he was in the house. I would check again. I hadn’t looked in the closets.
“I looked in the closets,” said Bill. “I checked the whole house and the backyard.
I looked in the closets anyway. Elliot wasn’t there. I went out back, but couldn’t see him. Then, for some reason, my attention was drawn to the far corner of the yard.
There, hardly visible behind a small lemon tree, Elliot was lying in the sun.
“Elliot,” I called. He came running. He licked me. I hugged him. He chewed my hand. I rubbed his belly. Elliot was home, and life was beautiful.
