He returned looking like a whole different dog. I might have thought he was a different dog until he pooped on the floor, perhaps to punish us for taking him, perhaps to prove it was really him.
When Lanie woke up from her nap she was sitting on the couch with him and I asked her where Jack was.
"Oh, he at store getting a hair-cut."
"Oh," I said, "who's that?"
She regarded Jack, "a doggie."
"What doggie?" I asked.
"Dis doggie momma."
"Is it Jack?" I asked.
"No, this is different doggie." Not at all perturbed that she was hanging out with a strange dog in the living room.
Poor little patchy guy, now we need to find him a doggie sweater and jacket. Vivian keeps wrapping him in blankets.
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