I let the dogs out for their morning duties yesterday, and Harry never came back. I finally gave up looking for him about midnight. This morning I was trying to get used to the idea that he wouldn't be part of the house anymore, while telling myself that I wasn't really that invested.
About 9 am, there was a scratching at the door, and a sad little floppy-eared dog slunk in. He was cold and hungry, and as soon as I fed him, he climbed wearily up on the futon and went to sleep.
I was surprised that for the 24 hours he was gone, Ozzie seemed quite bereft. He wandered around the house whining and whistling, and wanted to go out more than usual. Now that the bassett is home, Ozzie is content to go back to ignoring him as much as possible.
Dogs. They get into your heart, even when you don't want them to.
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