I love dogs, but Marlene’s little pup, Rusty, was one of those nervous purse-sized ones who think anyone looking at their owner too long is a threat.
And Marlene was the kind of person who claimed Rusty was her emotional support dog, even though she had no papers or any real condition that would need one.
Marlene and Roland arrived on Sunday.
My husband guided them to the guest room, and I made small talk about their trip while we ate supper.
Meanwhile, Rusty sneaked around my house like a tiny leader inspecting his new territory.
