Light from his front stoop stretches across the narrow path leading up to Bret’s house. At the edge of the yard, I hear Darth Vader barking incessantly in the kitchen where he is kenneled.
I help Bret inside, lay him on the couch, and cover him with a heavy afghan. Then I let Darth out to do his business, and when he is done, we meander back into the house. Before he ambles towards his doggie bed, I sneak in a few scratches behind his ears. But before he crawls into his kennel for the night, I whisper to him, “I think you deserve an apology, my friend.” I wander into the living room with Darth at my side. I squat by the corner of the couch next to Bret. I gently touch Bret’s arm and rouse him. His eyes flutter open and he looks at us, wide eyed and spooked. I say calmly, “Bret, I think yo
