She thought it had been bad when Max, the younger dog, had died first: a six-year-old mutt she had rescued in a moment of weakness and guilt as she passed by a shelter during a particularly fearsome time of the month.
Jackie saw the red and blue cop lights in her mirrors, her heart sunk to her stomach, and she sighed. “No, no, no, no!” she implored to the protector god of slightly drunken girls...
Delilah heard the cat meowing incessantly and finally rose to investigate despite the late hour. Treading ungracefully through her apartment, she rubbed her eyes and nose...
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Getz. Do you feel ready to identify the body? “Yes. As much as…well, you know.” “Yes, sir. I can’t imagine how this must be for you.”
