T’s gone away again, up to northern BC to visit family for a week. She packed the little blue wheelie suitcase, which means she’s travelling by plane, which means that I can’t go. I wish I was the size of dog that could fit in one of those carry-on kennels. That way I could go along on all of her travels.
It’s not that I don’t like hanging out with Nollind … it’s just that I worry … about getting fed. The cats told me a story about once having to carry dead birds into the house as a reminder to fill the food bowl when T was out of town. Cats like to mess with dogs so maybe they were just trying to scare me. But, I suppose, if things get dire, there are lots of pigeons around that nobody seems to be a fan of, and I’m pretty good at scavenging for wild mushrooms and other such treats.
And, I did supervise the making of the “Chico List”—daily walk, breakfast options, dinner instructions—and everything important was on there. Nollind is pretty good with a list. I should be fine…
Maybe someone should come and check on me, say … Tuesday?