“Car fifty-four, where are you?”
“Running some errands, babe. Is dinner ready?”
“Thirty minutes ago.”
“I have one more stop to make. See you shortly.”
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t ask, and I won’t tell.”
“Okay, bye.”
When I got home, I slipped quietly to a point just out of visual range of the kitchen door, raised my voice a bit, and said, “Hold out your hands and close your eyes. I’d suggest you sit down in a chair as well.”
“Okay,” he said from the kitchen.
I walked to the kitchen table where he was sitting and placed a small bundle in his hands. He opened his eyes.
“Holy shit. What’s this?”
“This,” I said, “is an eight-week-old purebred Irish Setter with blood lines that I’m told have at least one national champion in them. Why don’t you get acquainted with him while I bring in his gear?”
It took three trips to the truck to retrieve a doggie bed, a collapsible crate, food and water bowls, a bag of puppy food, and a few toys.