𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓥𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮

To: Dave

Subject: Quick Update / Minor Dog-Related Logistics

Hey Dave,

I’m sending this via email because my phone was recently submerged in a communal water bowl, and the speakers are currently emitting a sound like a distant, wet harmonica. I also wanted a written record of my proactive efforts, just so we’re on the same page for when you get back from the coast.

First off, I want to say I’m sorry about Barnaby...

I know you mentioned he’s a "flight risk," which I initially interpreted as a metaphor for his personality. It turns out it was a literal warning about his ability to navigate a six-foot cedar fence. He’s gone, Dave. Or rather, he was gone. He took a gap year from our backyard around 4:00 PM on Tuesday.

Now, I’m a solution-oriented person! I didn't want to worry you while you were at your sister’s wedding, so I took immediate "recovery steps."

I went to the local shelter. They didn't have a Barnaby, but they had a "Steve." Steve is also a Golden Retriever mix, though he’s about 15% more enthusiastic and 20% more rectangular... I brought Steve home as a placeholder. I figured the transition would be seamless.

However, on the walk back, I saw a dog in the park that looked exactly like the original Barnaby, specifically the way he looks at squirrels with a mixture of existential dread and hunger. I couldn't leave him there. So, I now had Steve and what I’m calling "Barnaby-B."

This is where the math gets a bit tricky.

When I got back to the house, the gate was open. A third dog, let’s call him The Unexpected Guest, was sitting in the kitchen eating a block of cheddar I’d left on the counter. He totally looked like he lived there! I mean, he was wearing your old college hoodie, which I’d left on the chair. It was a very convincing performance. For a few minutes, I actually thought he was Barnaby.

But then the actual original Barnaby (I’m 70% sure) scratched at the front door.

At this point, Dave, I realized that "finding the dog" was no longer the goal. The goal was "inventory management."

I tried to label them using your P-Touch label maker, but as it turns out, adhesive doesn't stick well to fur that is currently vibrating with excitement. I then moved to a color-coded ribbon system. Blue for Original, Red for Steve, Yellow for Barnaby-B, and Green for The Unexpected Guest (A.K.A. The Cheddar Enthusiast).

The problem is that they’ve started trading ribbons. It’s become a sort of canine barter economy. I walked into the living room this morning and Steve was wearing three ribbons, and who I think must have been the Original was wearing none and looking at me with great disappointment.

I also may have checked the "Lost and Found" section of Craigslist last night in a moment of sleep-deprived weakness. Long story short: a very nice woman dropped off three more "possible Barnabys" at midnight. I was too polite to say no.

So, here is the current status:

• There are currently seven dogs in your studio apartment.
• The neighbors have stopped calling me; they just stand on the sidewalk and stare at the windows.
• The landlord stopped by for the leak; I told him I was hosting a very specific, very golden convention. He seemed satisfied, or perhaps he was just afraid to enter the "Vortex of Tails."
• I’ve laid out seven bowls of kibble in a circle. It looks like a ritual, but it’s actually the only way to keep the peace.

The good news is that I am almost certain that the dog you love is in this room. He’s the one who looks like a Golden Retriever mix. He responds to the name "Barnaby," though to be fair, so do the other six now. It’s become a very confusing echo chamber.

Whenever you’re free this evening, please come by. I just need you to walk into the center of the room and see who trips you first.

I’m really sorry about the initial fence incident. But on the bright side, your return-on-investment for this pet-sitting gig has been over 600%.

See you soon,

The discouraged dog sitter but determined college student,

Sarah

(P.S. If you could bring more cheddar, that would be great. The Green-Ribbon one has developed a taste for the expensive sharp stuff, and I’m worried he’s the leader.)