“Sorry,” he mutters, turning and opening the door again. A lean brindle greyhound dog stands outside. “Lie down,” he says gently. The dog scoots closer and nudges him, earning Axel’s attention long enough for me to fish my phone out of its undesirable location in my leggings. After Axel gives him a few head rubs, the dog tucks itself into a small wood structure next to the front door that I somehow failed to notice earlier—what looks like a tiny A-frame doghouse, complete with a plush plaid fleece sleeping bag tucked inside. The dog plops down on top of it and blinks big brown eyes our way.
