I am the home for wayward canine travelers. Yesterday, I went on a two hour bike ride in the heat of the day. It was easily 90 out when I left and worse upon my return. I was purple when I got home. I took a frozen Gatorade, that thawed way too quickly. At the turnaround in Danville, I was halfway through it, so I loaded it back up with psuedo-cold water. I got home and got inside and immediately got a terrible chill and realized I had probably over heated. So I drank another Gatorade and two liters of water and fell asleep. Only to be awakened 20 minutes later by my fierce protector, protecting. The space invader was a blonde pit named Dillon. I had never seen him before so I went out on the porch and whistled, and of course he came. He had a collar and tags, but I didn’t know how he’d do with Beauregard. I tried to lead him in the house, but Beau wouldn’t quit and Dillon got spooked and snapped at me. Fair enough. I tied Dillon to the truck (because real truck drivers have rope in their trucks) and went inside and got a leash and a phone. I called his Dad, no answer. I called his Mom and she was in San Francisco, listening to Dillon’s Dad, who was playing music. She was upset and was trying to devise a solution when I suggested that I keep Dillon and she just call when they got back into town. About two hours later, the phone rang and it was Dillon’s Mom, around the corner. They walked down and got him. His Dad was this monsterous guy, shaved bald with a goat. He was the sweetest man and absolutely in love with that dog. He wanted to buy me something or give me money or something for Dillon. I declined and asked him to just fix the fence so he didn’t get out again. Dillon was a square headed dog and a lot of people are afraid of square headed dogs. And they live close to Treat, and that reminds me of Bud. I was pleased that Dillon came my way so I could keep him safe. I didn’t want to tell them that I did it for Scooby.