As If I Don't Have Enough to Worry About

I let my imagination run away with me. There's an adorable golden retreiver puppy mix who lives up the street, named uninventively Goldie. She looks like a golden, except with short hair. Anyway, Coop and Isis and I walk by her fence often, and she tries to stuff parts of her body through the chain link so you can pet her. Well, yesterday, she looked lethargic, hot and dusty, and sad. Now, I know her owner loves on her as an only child, and I also know her owner has recently had heart surgery for a weak ticker. So, my brain started going to the place, "What if he's died and is lying somewhere in the house, and Goldie's trying to tell me something is wrong?" When I woke up this morning, I decided to wander over there. Goldie was still out in the yard, but she looked better, and I called her owner. Turns out he's fine, no heart attack. And Goldie looked like she was pooped and lonely because she was, having played all day for three days straight with three strapping male dogs who live on the same street, then taking a day for time out. I'm sure I was influenced at the same time by listening to an audio recording of The Tipping Point, where the author at one point talks about group psychology and how 40+ people in New York watched someone die because everybody thought somebody else had already gone for help. I wanted to be the one who went for help.