The vet said he was seven or eight years old when I adopted him from the shelter, which suited me fine because that made us a pair. I turned 50 recently, needed a canine wingman, and he was perfect.
The folks at the shelter called him Carlos, and I kept that name when I brought him home. He was the kind of dog who would stay in the front yard all day long and never roam. Or go on a walk and not need a leash.
So I was a bit surprised one afternoon to learn that ole’ Carlos had wandered off. It wasn’t like him, but I discovered he had been lured away by a bag of popcorn held by a 12-year old neighbor. This young man knew Carlos well, as he and his mom had joined us on walks many times over the last couple years.
The mom was Anna, a 40-ish divorced woman who lived across the street. Anna was a sight too; half-Japanese, beautiful brunette hair and dark eyes, bright smile, and still looking like the college track athlete she had been 20 years ago. At this age her breasts were a bit fuller and her curves had rounded out, but she was still lovely in every way.