Betsy named him Bumpus after his tendency to crash into immovable objects as he dashed around our house and yard.
Two hours later, after too much coffee and too much worrying, and only Bumpus to talk to I telephoned Howie.
I'd planned to wait until Betsy and Molly returned from walking Bumpus but I decided if I had to drive back into downtown Keene, I might as well swing by Wheelock Park Campground as it was on the way, at least sort-of.
Jackson had stopped by for Bumpus who reluctantly jumped into the back seat like an arrested felon.
Maybe the man owns a dog himself and Bumpus smelled the scent on him.
He even offered to mind Bumpus for a few days after I requested a recommendation for a kennel.
While Molly looked troubled when she returned, Bumpus was just the opposite, hopping around like he'd just retrieved a ball and would win a reward.
She helped Betsy in the kitchen and hovered around Bumpus like a hen with chicks.
She seemed to understand and was off to walk Bumpus while I filled in Betsy on my conversation.