December is passing quickly.
I still don’t know what will happen to my best basset hound friend. As you know Carmela and her family are moving. I stopped asking where. Every time I did, there was a new possible location. One minute it was near, the next much too far.
My anxiety level would launch itself like a rocket.
She still manages to make me laugh, even though when I see her, my heart’s heavy.
On Sunday her parents are home alone. They have no help consisting of a cook, a houseman and three maids. I know, one day a week must feel like they’re slumming.
It was around 11:20 when I quietly opened the gate leading me into the yard. I looked into the kitchen window to see if anyone was awake. They know I’m coming, but quite often make me wait till they decide to get up. For the privilege of being with Carmela, I tolerate this.
As I’m peering into the window, suddenly, who comes dashing out the kitchen door like a fat calf at a rodeo but Carmela…so happy to see me, jumping, knocking me down. There I was sprawled on the step with her happily in my lap licking my face, going into my pockets. She’s so smart knowing where the cookies are.
I feel sad for her parents even though I know, the last thing they’re concerned about is me. They just are not very considerate people by nature and I feel, this abrupt removal is simply reaping what they sadly sow.
You don’t have to be a Buddhist to believe in karma.
But it’s the holidays, and the fact that rather than hosting and celebrating, they’ll be packing and moving is really an unfortunate thing.
They’re Argentinians after all who are very big on Christmas.
Come what may, I will stand vigil no matter what happens on behalf of my girl.