Move It or Lose It
It's November of last year and I'm at the laundromat for the first time in my life, folding laundry and my phone rings, it's my mom. "Your dog is missing?" Confused, I said "no... what are you talking about?" And she tells me that she got a phonecall from the GPS tracking company that chips dogs, and they got a report that Gracie was found up the street by a woman and here's her number. I'm stunned. Five seconds ago my world consisted of neatly organized piles of socks, underwear, tshirts and pants, and now all of a sudden, my dog is gone and am I going to see her again? How the hell did this hap-? Oh right. My landlord. My live-in landlord, the one who insists she knows how to take better care of my dog than I do. I rush home, stop in at the place who reportedly had her, and they told me the woman with the house had come by to pick up Gracie and told them she wasn't going to tell me. I thanked them for saving my sweetie and came home