They were a pack of three all of their days which is why their bond was so strong. But sometimes two of them went where he could not yet follow.

During these times he would stay with friends who loved him well, often lying in the mild air on the sun-warmed boards of the deck beneath him, facing inside where he could observe in them any signs of rising interest in a walk, or better yet a swim all of which were known to happen with these friends. Friends, he thought, were good.

As well, from this vantage he could see a half eaten croissant on the kitchen island; if either of the friends reached for it, he was, despite his apparent languor, prepared to leap quickly to his feet and convince them, ardently, of the preferable destination of the tum of His Chocolateness, Jake.

Another friend he stayed with while his pack roamed far afield had a pack of her own and so though he missed his pack he was never alone or lonely and was grateful to beloved by one such as she.

And so his days passed in sun and shade, always with something to do and a friend to do it with, but he never failed to watch and listen for the return of his pack, that they might continue their adventures together. 

And when they returned- which he always trusted they would – he left his friends with a joy in his heart for their shared time matched only by his joy at rejoining his pack and whatever adventures were ahead, which were many.