Unconcerned, I whistled again…and again…and again.  Then, in mounting annoyance (Generally I was annoyed with him about something.  He was that kind of dog.), I called his name, then called it again, louder, sharper.

“Hector!  Here!  Here!”

Then the whistle.

But there was no response.

No pounding of his pads on the driveway, no jingle of the dog tag on his collar.

And my attention, scattered across annoyance and dinner and television, suddenly focused, sharp enough to cut.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)