I was leaving the funeral parlor on my corner visiting my friend Millie who works there, when I see a jaunty, four-legged tube go by in an off-white cashmere sweater. My heart, that’s been buried miserably beneath 5 sweaters of its own, leapt like a child’s screaming, “Carmela, Carmela, is that you?”
“It’s me,” she said, wiggling her two-toned rear like a can-can dancer (you have to listen really carefully for that canine response). She stopped short in the middle of Madison causing her walker to bump right into the UPS man.
I hadn’t seen her due to the cold since she hasn’t been lolling on the patio as of late. I still look every day, sorry she’s not, but happy to know she’s inside snug and warm.
Our reunion made people stare. There’s nothing quite like a basset hound happy to see you.
I got on the ground nose to nose…Carmela rolled over. I rubbed her elongated body while she yelped for joy.
My melancholia magically vanished scratching those big, floppy ears of hers.
Noticing the walker’s teeth chattering, I kindly, but with great reluctance, bid my dearest girlfriend a fond farewell.
Watching her tail wag out of sight, I thought…
if only Millie was as happy to see me as Carmela.
Just once I’d like to see her rollover crying out with joy that she has such a great pal.
Maybe Carmela should write a book…
A Basset Hound’s Guide To Love and Friendship…I could pen the introduction.