“How does Davin like his new dog?” I asked.
“Davin never even got to see it,” Melody said. “I picked the puppy up yesterday and took it to the art gallery with me. When I opened the door the dog got out and ran down the street.”
“You couldn’t catch him?”
“Are you kidding? That dog is faster than a rabbit. All I saw was his tail going around the corner.”
“I guess you’ll just have to get Davin another dog.”
“I can’t afford it,” Melody said. “That dog cost me a fortune. I had just sold a painting for four hundred dollars and I spent it all buying him.”
“Four hundred dollars?! There isn’t a dog in this country worth four hundred dollars.”
“This one was.”
“For that price I hope you got papers for him. Was he a purebred?”
“He sure was. His pedigree was about three pages long. If Rusty could talk he wouldn’t even speak to you or me.”
“Rusty?”
“That’s what I named him. I’m going down to the newspaper right now to put an ad in. I sure hope I get him back.”
That was two weeks ago. Yesterday I remembered the dog. I stopped by the art gallery to see Melody.
“Did you get your dog back?” I asked her.
“I put the ad in for two weeks in a row,” she said. “So far I haven’t heard anything.”
“What did the ad say?”
“It said, ‘Here, Rusty! Here, boy!’”
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