The Harlequin Great Dane was maybe two years old and almost grown into his over-sized puppy paws. His massive head bigger than a basketball with quizzical deep brown eyes. Porter admired the dog’s unblemished gray coat.
“I guess I’ve taken to calling him Boo Boo,” Jo said as she shrugged.
“Isn’t he yours?” Porter asked.
“Naw. He just showed up last night. Now he won’t leave my side.”
“If he’s Boo Boo, does that make you Yogi?” Porter asked.
“Maybe. But Boo Boo was the smart one. Yogi was a con man.”
“Interesting spin on the pursuit of pic-a-nic baskets.”