When we were first dating, his parents had an old basset hound. I bounced into their backyard one afternoon – Nate wasn’t home. His mother, a prolific gardener, was digging a hole and I happily said, “What kind of tree are you planting.”
She looked at me and said, “The dog kind.”
I almost laughed.
She was so straight faced.
“Betty had to go this afternoon. But don’t tell Nate.”
“Won’t he notice she’s gone?”
“Oh. I suppose he will.”