This afternoon Martina stopped the car to check on a lost dog trotting along the side of the road. I doubted that we could catch him, but the good boy, who seems to be a mix of chow and lab or maybe Akita, let me walk right up to him. When Martina told him to sit, he did just that, and we read the bone-shaped tag on his collar. We then opened the car door, and he jumped right in. Thinking that we would just drive him home, we called the phone number on his tag and looked up the address. Well, the telephone number was bad, and the owner no longer lives at the address listed. So here we are with a furry friend named Rascal Willis hanging out in our living room looking like an outlaw on the lam.
If you are a dog, his name is pretty much indistinguishable from "Rosco," the name of our dog, which makes it kind of difficult if you want to separate them. I hope Rascal's people see one of the signs I put on nearby street corners or look at the neighborhood watch Facebook page. Until then, we have a desperado waiting for a treat hanging out on the rug.
In honor of Rascal, here is Willie Nelson singing a song about a dog.
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