You think you will never lose your dog. Until the morning when you and the rest of your "loser" family jump into the van and take off in a hurry. For the next half-hour you don't even realize that your 100-lb dog is missing from her usual seat at the back of the van. When you eventually notice, you zip back through the morning traffic, only to find her curled up at the front door step of your home, waiting patiently, trustingly, but with a quizzical look on her face. And when you open the door of the van to tell her it's OK, she can climb in now, she jumps up and bounds towards you, happy to be part of the pack again. Even your youngest child has felt let down by you, and quite frightened, when you unexpectedly had to make your children wait in the after-school program one day. But your once-feral dog--she just accepts that, for whatever reason, the pack was separated, and that's the way tough life is. Why make it tougher? She just nuzzles up to you, the alpha member, touches you gently with her nose and reassures you that all is well that ends well.
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