White Dog was sleeping heavily on the couch when Steve returned home with groceries. But the rest of the White Dog Army knew what to do and slipped immediately into supervisory mode to get the bags inside, unpacked and put away. They do it every single weekend.
Everyone was doubly excited about groceries THIS week because the market had whole chickens on sale for just seventy-seven cents a pound. Stock up time, they all knew as they pushed each other to try to find the bag in the collection of full bags Steve carried in that held the poultry.
Steve heaved the bags onto the counter and hurried out for the last few and to close the car's hatch. The goods were well guarded.
As he unpacked and sorted, Steve noticed there were only THREE chickens among the bags, not the four he purchased. He looked through all of the bags and went out to check the van in case it might of rolled out. He asked me to look at the receipt to make sure he was charged for all and one was not missed. Receipt was true but the missing bird was, well, missing.
"I hope the bagger did not just leave it on the side of the checkout area," he sort of moaned. "I hate the idea of driving back. Let me take the THREE chickens out to the chest freezer in the Studio and finish unpacking. Then, I guess, I will go back over."
He bundled the three birds into a bag and took down the key to the Studio. Out he went.
When he returned he was smiling. "Found the missing bird," he said, as he scrolled then pointed his cell phone screen at me.
"Really, we were just waiting here for dad to open the Studio," Bailey said. Zso added, "see, except for a few tiny bite marks needed to carry the bird, we did not even tear the package."