I looked across at my new car, and the small yard beyond it where the dog lay in wait.

The white dog lay on the floor next to him.

The old dog lay, exhausted, with his eyes half closed.

The dog rattled briefly on the floor and then lay still.

The old dog, William, lay with his head on her foot.

The little dog lay at her feet, and a cup of coffee stood on the table beside the chair.

A dog lay on the ground, where it had probably been trying to squeeze its way under the porch.

Then they ate and the dog lay under the table.

In the gutter half a block down, another dog lay dead.

The dog lay in the stream leading out of the marsh.