We’d had the puppy for two months when I realized we were in deep. Our little rescue hound-dog mix named Beastie was on our back balcony, and her floppy ears began twitching when she heard a bird singing. My husband and I could see the cardinal in the tree.
“That’s a bird,” Brian said, emphasizing the last word. “Bird,” he repeated patiently as he stroked her little black and tan head.
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