Gate left open and he's gone.
He's gone before, always returned or been found. You always worry though, always fret.
Someone finds him, calls. We collect him, scold him. Then love him.
We fear one day he won't return - that he'll meet a car, not a kind stranger.
Because you always worry, always fret.
Before you get all 'bad dog owner' on my ass, I should point out that it was a delivery guy who left the gate open, not us. Anyway, having defended myself against imaginary attacks, I should probably beseech you to play along in 55 words again, then go HERE in time-honoured tradition and boast about it.
FINALLY.... and just to see who actually reads to the end..... I'm thinking of going to a lighter blog page. As much as I love the picture blending into the black page, I'm thinking it's not overly user-friendly. Any feedback appreciated - comment or mail and I promise to take what you say into consideration......