Wednesday night, January 13
A mild winter’s evening in Alberta. The Christmas trees that lit the windows of the neighbouring houses are gone, hauled to the curbsides for pick-up or packed away in bulging boxes in basements.
Riley sits on one of the many dog beds scattered throughout the house, looking out the livingroom window. Is he waiting for Catie to come home? I’ve been preoccupied the last few days and wonder if he feels neglected and sit on the pillow beside him.
But his gaze isn’t fixed on a distant horizon and anticipated homecoming of his sister but is very intent instead on the three fat hares on the lawn.
We sit and watch them for a while. I don’t really see the fascination, to tell you the truth; in fact, I’m a little annoyed as I think of all the tiny rabbit pellets and peanut shells (one of the neighbours likes to feed them) I’ll have to somehow recycle when the snow is all gone.
They are very large rabbits and they are regular callers.
Riley looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He’s not sure why I’m sitting on his pillow nor why I’m suddenly so interested in the fat hares, so we chat about Catie. I do most of the talking, but he’s a very patient and respectful listener.
We talk about her-deep chested bark, the one that puts Riley’s to shame (his is on the high-pitched side, surprising for the size of him); her greeting disorder (we have not been able to break her of jumping on visitors); her love of digging, of garden hoses and sprinklers and the plastic pool we put in the backyard on the seven hot days we get in the summer; the way she softly snores in her sleep (Riley is a very quiet sleeper); her silent and near-fatal flatulence; and her favourite sleeping position – on her back, head lolling, chest up, back legs spread.
I’m still worried about the days ahead, but I’m smiling anyways.
Note from Riley: I have no idea what my mom is talking about. I’m not hearing any of the words I recognize: ball, food, supper, bedtime, park, truck, walk, cookie. I wonder if I can have Catie’s dinner.
Thursday, January 14
Catie will come home tomorrow. The veterinary hospital thought it best to keep her one more night, to keep her rested and quiet. She drank and ate today.
We have covered enough of the hardwood with new rugs to to make a generous path from the front door to the kitchen.
Tomorrow then.