Sonja is crying at the lunch table about her dog peeing in bed. Is this normal? Are all those people who sleep in her bed normal? The look on my face belies my feeling I've been had. I told Sonja, don't talk about the dog, exnay about the god-day, Aviva doesn't need to hear about the dog. She's talking about kids without legs. Seriously. Dog excuses seem suspicious, even when they are true. Didn't we learn this in grade school? Dogs do eat homework, they eat almost everything, but we're not allowed to say it. Like I said, it sounds suspicious. Let Aviva be upset and then a simple, "I'm really sorry" fixes all kinds of things. It's like a diamond tennis bracelet when you've been caught en flagrante. "I had an emergency with Milou," would have been fine, no? Short, sincere and sweet would have kept the peace.
I had lots of dogs growing up. We buried two in the backyard. Gigi, our pedigree poodle, even got a star turn in my book. I also had cats. My cat Sammi slept with me every night, like Milou sleeps with Sonja. She even died on my pillow. She went quietly, in the night, on my head. I was nine. We buried her next to Gigi. I was stoic, even then.