ABSTRACT
Another symptom. As we walk toward a clearing, I notice that Leo’s run off into the woods. “Ah,
don’t worry about him,” I hear Uncle Joe say to my husband, patting him on the shoulder. “He knows these woods.” My husband loves dogs, particularly big dogs that fetch sticks and run impulsively through his legs. I imagine he’s slightly disappointed in Leo. He’s always talking about his favorite golden retriever or the black lab that was too smart for his own good, a wandering Romeo with a fickle
harem. We can’t have dogs in the house because of my allergies (more symptoms), and my husband has had to content himself with the neighbor’s three dogs, big, raucous, rescued dogs who unleash a feast of noise next door.
