Chapter Nine
In the kitchen cupboards, I found brightly colored Fiesta ware, and heavy blown-glass tumblers and goblets that I thought must have come from Mexico. I poured water — yes, the taps worked, thanks to a well out back that was powered by the windmill — into a bowl for Dutchie, and then tipped some of the Blue Buffalo dry food I’d brought from home into another bowl. She set to, lapping at the water greedily, crunching away at the dog food. I could tell she thought she was home, too. At some point I’d have to see about replenishing her food supply, but that could wait a while. Based on the amount of kibble left in the bag, she’d need some more in about a week. In a pinch, I could defrost some of those frozen chicken breasts and cook them up for her, but it would probably be smart
