“He’s fifteen now,” Mark sighed, shaking his head. “I told him if he wants the keys to the car, he has to help me groom the Newfoundlands this weekend. It’s a fair trade for labor.”
She smiled, clicked off her monitor, and headed toward the elevator. The pedigrees would be there tomorrow, but for now, it was time to trade the world of purebreds for the beautiful, messy world of a suburban Tuesday. “He’s fifteen now,” Mark sighed, shaking his head
In the breakroom, the conversation rarely stayed on canine genetics. Over the hum of the microwave, Mark from Public Relations was commiserating with a colleague from the Event Planning team. “He’s fifteen now