It was a minute or two before I realized that there was no more noise coming from Ray's office. I shifted Ray off my feet and went to look for the other dog. She was in the darkened living room laying on the couch, alone, abandoned, dejected.
"Are you alright?" I asked. Murphy briefly looked at me, then dropped her head to the couch with a dispirited thud. A long, loud sigh issued from her furry body. "Did your parents abandon you to complete strangers?" I asked again in a very sympathetic tone. Murphy's head didn't move, but she watched me with eyes that expressed the pain of abandonment. "Are they never coming back? Are you going to have to live with us forever?" I asked. Murphy remained the picture of limp dejection. I petted her a few times, reassured her that her parents were just gone for a few days, and returned to the couch and the sleeping, exhausted Ray.
The next morning, Murphy was fine, her abandonment forgotten in the excitment of chasing squirrels and wrestling with the big dog in the backyard.
Until that night when depressed dog returned.