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Jul 12, 2010
Clarence had never seen a dog door before and apparently neither had Singer. It had not occurred to him that the dog wouldn’t know how to use it. He knelt by the covered hole, situated under his picture window, and pushed his arm through a few times; Singer sat and watched. He pulled her toward the door, her toenails digging into the carpet in protest, and pushed her head against the cover, moving it away. She wiggled and fought, whimpering in protest. Clarence rocked back on his heels and pondered what to try next. He heard a noise out by the bird feeder. Rather than get up and look through the window, he pushed the dog door open again, leaning down to peek through. Singer’s head met his at the opening, her nose twitching, and body stiff.

“Get ‘em,” he whispered.

Singer shot through the door in a blur of brown and white. Her loud baying signaled when the squirrel was treed. Once again up Erma B.’s maple tree, it chattered at the dog reared against the new fence.

Clarence pushed the dog door open with his foot and called Singer. She trotted to him, tail arched up over her back. She slipped through the dog door like she’d done it all her life. Clarence gave her a biscuit. She licked up every crumb before jumping onto Lydia’s chair and sat with her tail curled around her, nose pointed out the window.

Clarence sat next to her, reaching over and fingering one soft ear. His head settled against the back of his chair and he grinned. He looked forward to the next squirrel.

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