He didn"t fool me a bit.

　　During a snowstorm Old Red disappeared. I haunted the barber shop. "Larry, where can he be?" I"d ask.

　　"I"m glad he"s gone. He was a bother, and it was getting expensive feeding him." Larry continued to cut a customer"s hair, not looking at me.

　　Later, his wife told me that Larry had driven for miles looking for the dog.

　　On the third day the dog reappeared. I ran to him and patted his head. The big, dirty tail didn"t flop once. He didn"t even raise his head. I felt his nose: hot and dry. Bursting into the barber shop, I hollered, "Larry, Old Red"s sick!"

　　Larry continued cutting a customer"s hair. "I know. Won"t eat."

　　Where do you think he"s been?"

　　"I can"t prove it, but I think someone at the shopping center complained and he was hauled off. Did you see his feet? Looks like he"s been walking for days to get back."

　　I lowered my voice. "Let him inside, Larry."

　　The customers seemed to be enjoying our conversation.

　　"I can"t do that. This is a place of business."

　　I left the shop, and for hours I tried to get someone involved in helping Old Red. The Humane Society said they"d take the dog, but they were an hour"s drive across Atlanta, and I had no idea how to get there. Anyway, no one would adopt a sick dog, and they"d put him to sleep. A vet I phoned said right away that he didn"t take charity cases. The police, fire department, and manager of the shopping center could offer no help. None of my friends were interested.

　　I knew I was about to bring Old Red home despite my husband"s rules about strays. I hadn"t brought an animal home in a long time.

　　As I fixed supper that night I said very little. My husband finally asked grimly, "Do you want me to go look at that dog with you?" Translated, this meant: "I"ll get involved a little bit. But we cannot keep the dog."