Back in the gallery, exhausted, we locked the door, opened a bottle of wine and wondered what we’d done. Perhaps gotten too involved with too few skills. We had devoted several months to hysteria but rescued neither man nor dog. And I’d bought a puppy I couldn’t keep.
The pups stayed together another week. James took Jordan to his new suburban home. We gave Brownie to a designer we knew. Happy Suzette remains with Gay, romping in the garden, the source of the beautiful rose photographs. The gallery is quiet now. We’re back to showing real life in photographs.
Postscript: In May, Midnight was rearrested and put to sleep. Junior left—for alcohol rehab, we were told. A car hit the white puppy. Hitler was bitten by a woman.