By Sara Morris Swetcharnik
The chocolate pointer was full size, but still a puppy. She bounded out of the darkness and would not leave us. Loping behind me, she gleefully poked her nose between my legs, nearly tripping me. We tried to dissuade her, but she followed us home.
The next morning she was still there. When she wandered into my studio and tore an art book to shreds, I phoned her owner. His wife answered and asked if I would like to keep the dog. A car horn was honking in our driveway, so I quickly told her No, thank you and said I would call back.
It was Leroy our rural route postman, who had pulled into our lane with a special delivery package. I hurried to his car, but the dog moved faster. She jumped through the postman's open window, landed in his lap and proceeded to lick him in the face.
Embarrassed, I quickly apologized and explained that she was not our dog. Leroy simply laughed and said, "It's OK. Dogs usually bite me."