"That," said Joe, pointing to Alonzo, "must be the extra collar they
sent from the laundry last week."
It was. Alonzo was a gift--a donation. Sleek, youthful and unsullied,
he came to us, bringing an air of tragedy into the home.
Three times during that week I tried to soil his glossy coat, and each
time a golden minute was shorn from my breakfast. After that I put him
in the sock drawer.
At the end of the first week I said to Joe, "Alonzo is bored, the
society of half-hose does not interest him. Send him home."
He was sent, and my wardrobe settled itself peacefully.
On the following Monday I dipped into the collar drawer, went through
the usual rites, and----No, it didn't really startle me. He had
returned.