“Hello, Princess,” Dave said and sat on the bed to give her neck a rub. Her tail thumped harder in gratitude for the attention.
“I’m going to Nick’s tonight. It’s his semi-regular gay men’s potluck,” Dave told the attentive pooch, who seemed to hang on to and understand every word. “You remember. You went along once and met his yappy little Yorkie, who you thought was a snack. That’s why you’re not invited back.”
Cleo put her paw on Dave’s leg and forced her head into his hand. Of course she remembered. She was sorry. Would she ever be invited back? Could she come tonight?