We don't know our oversized Irish Setter is missing until a car pulls up and he bounds out, tongue lolling, paws flailing, fringe swinging, ears flapping, and runs up to us in the front yard. The driver gets out and says, "I found him running around inside the Bucks County Mall," less than a mile away. "I'm glad he was wearing tags. His mouth might be bleeding."
We laugh at the image of him galloping through the small mall, unattended. We thank her. We fuss over him (the blood is ketchup). Still, we are the shittiest dog family in town.