Let Me In

 Sherlock, our many-breeds rescue dog, adjusted quickly to his new home, a flat in a two-family home. The owners live upstairs and we are in the beautiful basement. 

We do not lock the connecting door.

José, our landlord quickly fell in love with Sherlock, often stopping by to take him for a walk.

As two writers, we work at home. Most times when we go out, we take the dog with us. However, there are times, we do leave him, much to Sherlock's disgust, although when we tell him stay, he jumps on the couch, sighs and gives us looks which I describe as hurt or sullen.

Last night Sherlock started barking at the connecting door. It was José. 

"Sometimes when you go out and leave him, I take him upstairs with me," José said. "After a while, he decides to go home."

I didn't know this.

Even though we were not going out, last night Sherlock decided to visit his friend upstairs.

About 15 minutes later, we heard Sherlock barking. He was not at the connecting door. He was at our entrance door. He had decided to leave upstairs by their front door and walk through their garden, which he loves, to our entrance door.

We answered his plaintive, "Let me in," bark. I wanted to ask him if he had a good time, but although his bark differs for different things, he doesn't have one to respond to this question.