Another encounter with Nick Schwartz wasn’t something I welcomed. Seeing how adamant he was, I had no wish to trespass on his land. I’ll admit, though, I missed seeing Elvis. On Thursday before the Fourth, out of the blue, I decided to deviate from my newly established route and run past the house. I had no reason to do so, no excuse other than the fact I wanted to see it again—one last look, because there was no need to torture myself with something I couldn’t have. As I rounded the corner of Bethel and the house and orchard came into view, I saw Elvis lying on the concrete walkway that led to the front porch. As soon as he spied me, he stood and walked to the edge of the property, sticking his nose through the fence slats. I couldn’t ignore this precious dog, even at the risk of butting heads with his owner. Pausing, I leaned forward and placed my hands on my knees while I caught my breath. “Morning, Elvis.” He wagged his tail as if he was genuinely pleased to see me. “I’ve missed you.”
