We had another incident last night. Around bedtime, Sadie was wandering aimlessly through the house, staring at me, unable or unwilling to settle down, like she was trying to tell me something.
This morning, I nervously opened the paper to see which pop culture icon was dead. Elton John? Neal Cassady? Paris Hilton? Could it be that Neal Cassady died long ago, and Sadie had finally noticed? Could it be that Sadie was upset about Paris Hilton’s cell phone being hacked?
Then I realized I’d left my bike helmet, gloves and shoes on the floor in front of the chair Sadie likes to sleep under, blocking the entrance to her den. She was trying to tell me something.