It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon at the Maplewood Police Department when the station doors swung open. Officers looked up from their paperwork, mildly curious. What they saw was Mrs. Eleanor Turner, the seventy-two-year-old widow who lived on Oak Street, holding the leash of her golden retriever, Sunny.
Normally, Sunny was known in the neighborhood for his calm, almost sleepy demeanor. People often joked that he was the gentlest dog they had ever met, content to lie in the sun for hours.
But today was different.
Sunny tugged excitedly at his leash, tail wagging furiously, eyes bright, tongue lolling happily out of his mouth. He barked once, twice, as if urging Eleanor to move faster.
Eleanor, a frail but determined woman with silver hair neatly pinned back, cleared her throat and spoke softly to the officer at the front desk.
