Chance, an epilogue

It is a statement about terriers, and especially my terriers, that when I tell my friends, “I’m worried that Chance might have gotten rejected from heaven, and that if he did get in, he’s misbehaving. Do you think he’s ok?” the unanimous vote is that of course he’s misbehaving. He’s Chance.

I don’t know how many of heaven’s sofas have been peed on so far but I have a good idea of what purgatory will look like. It looks a lot like an infinite bottle of Nature’s Miracle and an unending roll of paper towels.