Doris and I play a game prior to nap and bedtime. Before slipping under the covers, I stand at the mattress' side and stare at the empty pillows. My rescue pet usually sleeps atop two.

I am in dramatic mode, acting as if a loved one has disappeared. "Where is Doris?" I shriek.

"Has anyone seen my baby?" comes the second line of dialog.

My bedtime routine is to plug my iPhone and iWatch into their chargers. Their cradles are adjacent. But ever since I left my elderly iPad in the seat pocket of an American Airlines jet, I relocated the phone to the bedroom where it would substitute until my iPad6 arrived.

After waiting a month, my device finally landed. So prior to sleep, I placed the iPhone back to its original spot.

As I turned to leave, I heard a whimpering, then a soft voice.bedtime routine is to plug my iPhone and iWatch into their chargers. Their cradles are adjacent. But ever since I left my elderly iPad in the seat pocket of an American Airlines jet, I relocated the phone to the bedroom where it would substitute until my iPad6 arrived.

After waiting a month, my device finally landed. So prior to sleep, I placed the iPhone back to its original spot.

As I turned to leave, I heard a whimpering, then a soft voice.

I told my dog park friends that I'd be hiring a car to drive Doris and me from Chicago to Los Angeles for a weekend event, they protested.

"Three days in a car!" Bethany said as she put a hand on my arm, as alarmed as if I had announced my pet and i would be hitchhiking the route.

Another friend painted images of motels on the road: seedy travellers, moldy walls, and stained linens.

The house next door to the one that we were considering buying had been damaged in a fire. Its appearance was so harrowing that on the day of our tour, a film crew was using it to dramatize a rescue operation.

Our eyesore neighbor did not discourage Tommy and me; in fact we welcomed its haunted exterior because it measurably lowered the price of our potential home.