Sable our Bassett howled, gazing out the window at a big black dog — mostly Rottweiler — cruising the neighborhood. It was Timber, from a few houses down who had gotten out of the garage on Monday morning, just looking for something to do. When I went out to corral him he snarled, but wagged pathetic stump of a tail to let me know his heart wasn’t in it. I had grabbed the retractable leash, rated at 10 lbs., to help take him home. I clipped it onto his collar, but he promptly bit through the cord like a piece of spaghetti. Note to self: take higher rated leash next time. After he slobbered on my pants, Timber let me escort him home, and I haven’t seen him since. But a man drove by the other day, asking if I had seen that enormous black dog who scared him “s***less” one morning. Chuckling inwardly, I acted concerned, but knew that Timber really hadn’t intended any harm. My neighbor Stan thinks I’m a hero for saving the neighborhood. I think I just smelled enough like my own dogs that Timber knew I was OK.
Timber
