We’d just finished loading the truck for the transfer station run when a big, friendly, middle-aged, short-haired light tan dog came wandering into the yard.
She had a Sandwich license, but the Sandwich police didn’t have a record of her owner.
Turns out, the dog’s name is Bill, and she belongs to a person working on a home improvement project one street over. He thought Bill could hear him whistle (wrong). I walked her over on Paula’s old leash.
I did the transfer station while Ron did a leaf sweep in the back yard at Edgewater. We picked up supper at Lambert’s.