Feed on

Long ago, my family dog-sat him.  He was chubby, curly, compact and agreeable; he was a pleasure to mind.   His family lived across the street and they’d be gone a week.  He was used to us and so he settled in with our family.

The day before their return he pulled away.  He went to the front window.  He spent most of the day there and seemed to be waiting.  My mom is kind to animals and she’s an explainer.  She told the little dog his family would be home tomorrow. 

They miss you, she said.  They can’t wait to see you but you’ll have to wait one more day. He watched her explain.  He looked out the window, then he looked back at her.  He resumed his post.  He sighed.

Later that day he became very excited.  He wiggled, he waggled, he warbled with delight.  Across the street, a van had pulled into the drive and three blonde girls tumbled out.  And then his beloved mistress emerged from the passenger seat.  The sun burst through the clouds.  Angels sang.  He turned it up a notch and watched her walk to our house to claim him.

It turned out the weather was foul and the family, restless.  Decisions were made.  They came home a day early and how could the dog have known?


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