Being my Dog’s Bodyguard

Harold and Agnes Parson were knocking hard on the front door of Alan Samuel’s house. The couple were in their seventies and they had always been very good neighbours. The fact that they were rapping with such urgency meant something was very wrong.

Alan Samuels was still in bed while the Parsons were knocking on his door like a woodpecker on steroids who had found a tree he liked. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a…