Last week my daughter and I sat in front of the fire quietly reading, and suddenly our dog, Buddy, began howling.
It was not the howling of “Hey, there’s a UPS truck out front; I need to check it out!” but rather the howling of, “Someone is torturing me, help!” My daughter and I looked up from our respective books and saw nothing alarming. No torturing cat, no tail caught in the recliner, no spilled hot coffee. It only lasted a few minutes, and then the night proceeded in peace, the incident forgotten.
The next day, however, it happened again. This time was worse, not only in noise but in duration. Buddy howled and whined and looked at me with wide eyes begging for help. Once again, searching even in doctor mode, I couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. I checked his paws for thorns, his body for tender spots, his ears for mites. Nothing.
“Buddy, I wish you could talk,” I told him.
Over the next few days, more episodes occurred. Finally, at 8:00 PM on Friday, came the worst one yet.
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