David waved as Nancy’s car backed out. He worriedly heavy-stepped back to the porch and
tried not to look at Swat, whimpering and pawing the grate. “Sorry, Swat,” said David, feeling saintly, and now absolved, for taking into account the dog’s feelings. Swat’s cage with Swat stuffed into it did not look like the happy place Nancy had promised, but more like a prison designed to inflict humiliation and obedience.
She loved her dog. As long as he behaved.