Then Boss rattled his tags. Mark jerked up and looked around. “Okay if I come up?” the dog whispered. “It’s cold down here.” The dog was wagging his tail. Dried out, it was a big black plume. Mark gasped. “Boss?” he whispered. “You … you talk?” The dog grumped and nodded. “Up?” he asked again. Mark patted the covers. Boss glided up. Mark put his arm around him, curling his fingers in the dog’s deep fur. It felt good. He liked the smell. It didn’t make him sneeze. “I wasn’t really cold,” Boss rumbled as he snuggled close. “I just said that so you’d let me up. My breed is from Tibet. It’s cold there in the mountains, and we sleep outside, which is why my coat is so heavy. It sheds wet too. Except when I fall in the canal.” “Ooh!” Mark exclaimed, hugging the dog as if to save him. “Do you fall in a lot?” “Once,” Boss said with a shudder. “That was enough. “It was a couple of years ago. I was a puppy. I stumbled getting off a pitching boat and got crushed between it and the dock.
What do You think about Looking For Marco Polo (2009)?
