A wild thought came into mind last night when Butterscotch appeared. Where would the pets go during the evacuation?
It was a quiet night, yet Butterscotch barked as he always did when he came. There were certain pounds the pets were supposed to be left in, and they could be reclaimed if their owners were lucky.
“George should be in Nightingale now,” Arian had said as I stroked the dog’s fur. “I don’t know why it’s still here.”
“Do you ever miss Butterscotch?” I had asked out of the blue. If I had a dog I’d known for possibly years, I would never spend a day without it.
“Not really,” he had replied with.
We had taken him back to George’s house, but no one was home. George did get evacuated. I wouldn’t be surprise since he fit the above-sixty category. Instead, there was a seal on the d
