Friday, March 28, 2008
Tom Blesset had a dog once. Noodles was a knee-high orange mongrel with less sense than a spaniel. It would lie on the pavement outside the house, allowing the sun to warm its paws until it retreated, panting, into the shade of the yard. That was before Tom put the gate in. He should have done that sooner, for Noodles might still be alive if he had. The dog must have run away because last summer when Tom heard it yelp, all he saw when he ran onto the street was Mr. Jasfoup, dabbing his pale lips with a handkerchief.