With the dog days of summer upon them, Hugo decided to adopt a dog.
There was no tip-off, other than the weather announcer – to call him a meteorologist is a disservice to meteorologists everywhere, though the new anchor did so every night – announcing the beginning of the dog days of summer. But it was all Hugo needed, for he had been planning this for some time.
At the shelter, the dogs looked sad and lonely, and they didn’t pull Hugo’s heart strings.
At the breeder, the dogs looked purebred, with all the associated health and mental problems therein. Hugo passed.
It was just as he was giving up, then, that a dog presented itself. A stray, this dog was clearly a mutt. It could have been part Chihuahua, part Malamute, and part Retriever, but there could be some Collie and some Beagle and some Newfoundland mixed in there too. He couldn’t tell; no one could.
But the dog found Hugo as he walked home, and followed him to his door. Hugo invited the pup in for a drink – the dog was panting heavily, and looked like it needed the cool of a basement – and from then on, Hugo had a dog. He quickly had her spayed, got her shots, and cleaned her up, and they were the best of friends.