Manley & Me

I opened the door into the garage and the first thing I spotted was Manley, lying on his carpet, looking dejected. In that instant snapshot image, I could see that his snout and hands were not right. They were dark brown, not their usual light yellow, and were caked in dried blood. Then my focus zoomed out and I was breathless. Manley had shredded the garage door. Bits of wood were sprayed in a 10-foot semicircle, streaks of blood and fingernail scratches marked the spots where he had dug a hole almost clear through the door. The bottom three inches of the doorjamb were completely missing. I was not so much angry as I was in awe.