I’m standing at the sink, industriously scrubbing
a potato preparatory to nuking it. I’ve discovered
the new microwave does a bang-up job of turning
out ‘baked’ potatoes in five minutes.

The doorbell chimes once – probably another
pesky squirrel setting off its motion detector.
As I glance toward the sound, my peripheral
vision seems to pick up a familiar gold and
white figure watching silently from the dining
room doorway.

Of course, I know it’s impossible that she could
be there, and at first, I refuse to look. Finally, I
reluctantly turn far enough to see clearly into
the dining room. The figure loses its gold and
white color and turns into a light grey DeLonghi
space heater my brother has brought in from the
back porch. it had been keeping the washer
hoses from freezing up during the recent cold
snap.

I turn back to my potato scrubbing with less
anticipation and enthusiasm. Miko had been a
good dog. No, she had been a great dog – ‘The
Silent Assassin’ – who guarded us all with quiet
efficiency and unflagging loyalty. She has been
gone for years, now. I seem to see her in lots of
places, here lately. Perhaps she’s trying to tell
me it’s time for a replacement. She has other
interests of a more celestial nature to pursue.

    © 26 March 2009 by Thurman P. Woodfork