You dropped something.

I woke up a little after 6 this morning. I tried to get back to sleep, but my brain started ringing with weekend tasks yet undone and I knew my day was about to begin whether I liked it or not. So, much to Jez’s satisfaction, we headed out for our morning walk about two hours earlier than a standard Sunday.

While I admired the beauty of the sun coming up over Lake Michigan, Jez successfully scavenged a Bonanza buffet’s worth of food leftover from late-night drunks. I know from personal experience the walk home from the bar can be rough, but I don’t think I’ve ever lost so much grub. She found a hamburger with only one bite taken, two pieces of pizza, a handful of French fries and my favorite—one entire unscathed burrito.

I yelled, “No!” and pried her jaws open. I scolded, “Drop it!” while she stood there looking at me with determined eyes. And with every morsel of food, I wondered whether the person who left it behind ever noticed it was missing. I doubt it. I suppose in this economy I should be reassured that people can still afford to buy food for themselves—or drop it in the snow for old dogs to find.


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