As if on autopilot one of my handsguided itself downwards, ready to slip into my panties."What. The. Fuck?!"I snapped back into reality, greeted by ...he sight of my rather shocked17-year-old sister Kelly."What the fuck is going on?!" she asked, although it was really more ofa demand. "Who... who the fuck are you?!" Kelly, wait--!" I exclaimed.She, however, shook her head. "No, no. I don't know how the hell yougot in here but I'm... I'm calling the police."I reached out and grabbed her arm,. My brother used to call him Low Rider. Yes, I wondered that too, which the father was, the Dachshund or the Shepherd. After Buster died, I did not want another dog. Yet, I was miserable without a dog. Still, I went a few years without the responsibility of having to care for a dog and not missing the early morning and late evening walks in the cold, the rain, the sleet, and the snow. Then, my mother died and I was depressed. Of course, I am not equating the death of my dog with the passing of. More

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