It was a cold, dreary, mizzly day. I'd left Ray curled up on the couch watching Wuthering Heights while I worked in the garage with power tools making his cousin, Hannah, a Christmas present. I had no idea what time it was but I knew the time for Ray's afternoon walk (3:00) must be approaching.
There was a knock at the garage door; the one that goes into the laundry room. I opened the door to the dog. His head was down around his knees in typical Ray mode.
"What's up buddy?" I asked my dog. "Is it time for your walk?"
I walked into the kitchen to check the clock on the stove. It was 2:59.