Read Part One here!

Read Part Two here!

The man hadn’t been over to the house for a few weeks.  As far as I could tell, no one had. This would have been a death sentence for Marsha if she hadn’t basically been living with me.  It got to be such a long time that I was becoming concerned  As I said, he was rather old.

The only relative of his that I’d met was his son who lived about an hour away.  We had exchanged phone numbers after the break in, and I’d called him a few times to discuss Marsha.  He was unhappy with her situation as well, and he had even tried to discourage his father from getting a dog in the first place.

So I called, asking after his father, and learned a bit of what had happened.  It turns out there had been a death, just not the man’s.  The woman he had been living with died, suddenly and unexpectedly, from what I understand.  I also came to learn that most of the people who I’d seen with him at the house on occasion had been her relatives, not his.

This put him in a predicament.  Apparently none of his wife’s (Or maybe girlfriend’s?  It never was very clear) family felt like keeping him in the style to which he had become accustomed (If he treats people the same way he treats his animals that isn’t surprising).  So it was decided (again, apparently)* to have him live with his son.

So they started to move all of his stuff out of the house next door!  Sad, I’m sure, for this man, who had held on to this house for so long, but a great opportunity for Marsha!  A clean break!  I called the son again and made it clear that I’d keep her.  Well, I tried to.

They brought her over to her old yard again, a day or two after I’d talked to the son.  There was, perhaps a lack of communication, between the son, father, and others.  After that I made it a point to keep her in the house while the man, and the people who were helping him move out.  She was mine, she had been mine for a long time, but she was officially mine, and I wasn’t going to give her up!

So he’s an hour away now.  I’ve seen him and the son over there a couple of times in the last year.  Marsha is officially mine, with shots, tags, and vet appointments, and officially home, with buddies, a warm bed, and someone who give a damn.

*This paragraph has reached maximum parentheses.