What a curious phrase to think of: Dog's age…

"Well, I don't know," she said, "no doubt someone will be along to claim him after a bit…"

"Or he might just run off and leave us. But what about in the meantime, Mother? What should we call him in the meantime?"

"In the meantime?" Georgia looked down thoughtfully at the husky dog, which was so expertly wolfing down the hamburger she had set before him. Somehow a dog like this didn't seem suited to any name. He was more a beast of the wild, like a beast of the wild, like a wolf… That was it – they would call him that! She looked at her fresh-faced young daughter. "Why don't we just call him Wolf?" Georgia grinned at Karen sheepishly. "He seems to have a wolfish-type personality, don't you think?"

"Wolf!" Karen clapped her hands. "Why, that's grand, Mother! How ever did you think of it? It suits him to a T! I don't think I've ever heard of a dog named that before! Have you?"

"Why-uh, no…" Georgia looked down at the dog, which had by now glommed practically all of the hamburger and was again looking up at her with those strange eyes, so big and brown, like enormous dark pools filled with weird almost-human knowledge. Occasionally his fur brushed against her leg and she felt the most evanescent tremor of unexplainable excitement ripple through her overheated and frustrated loins.

She clutched her housecoat snugly around her tall, full-blown body. She had inadvertently set the plate down right on the top step to the kitchen door, and now couldn't close the door until the dog was finished eating, because his big muscular body was in the way. It was somewhat cool with the door open this way, and she could feel goose-pimples sprouting all over her shivering longish legs. The strangest feeling seemed to be crawling up her soft smooth flesh in the direction of her loins.