Catching up with New Dog

I have some catching up to do, my flock. As promised, here is the tale of New Dog:

The happy ayatollah clan was returning from Pug-O-Ween when I spotted a little dog roaming the neighborhood. We didn't want him to get hit by a car, so mother got out and offered him a biscuit. The canine accepted.

Soon, he was running around the ayatollah compound as if he owned the place. He wore a collar, but there was no phone number or address for a human caretaker. With the understanding that our new brother might be with us for a while, we named him New Dog, ND for short (pronounced "Indy"). While mother made some signs and posted them around the neighborhood, Wendell and I began to acquaint ourselves with ND. We learned that he was a Lutheran, and that he had worked in Las Vegas as a lounge singer. His nickname was "Old Blue Eye," owing to his distinctive one-blue-eye-and-one-brown-eye appearance. He was also fast -- nearly as speedy as Wendell. This led to at least 30 minutes of outdoor fun for the young duo. After a couple of minutes of watching the black blur chase the white-brown blur, and vice versa, I retired to the living room.

ND later laid claim to some pre-chewed rawhide, which could have been a source of friction. But thankfully, father opened a new pack, and all was once again right with the world. ND slept in Wendell's crate that night.

The next morning, mother and father took ND to a local veterinarian's office. They found that he had a microchip beneath his skin, and it provided the information necessary to track down ND's human caretaker. Mother and father left ND with the vet, and we thought that would be the last we'd see of our new brother. But last night, as costumed children prowled the neighborhood and set my hackles on alert, I spied the unmistakable gait of ND. He was out walking with his human. As my family drove by, ND looked up, his blue eye twinkling in the moonlight. He nodded in appreciation for what Wendell and I had done for him. I nodded back. Then, rolling down the window, I barked, "You owe me a stick of rawhide, you furry mooch."