Some wake! Just me and the man of the hour, Romaldo Junior, in a large cardboard box, wrapped in white blankets, a pillow tucked under his head, all prepped for the oven. Jesus looks down at him from his crucifix.
“Take care of him, will ya?”
The breathless sleep.
“I’m sorry, Dad. Thirty years is a long time to wait. But it wasn’t your fault. And now you know that.”
Still, the breathless sleep.
“Shall we go now, Doggaboo?”
Grin! What a good boy he is…not a bark, not a pant, respectfully quiet. Lots of head tilts, though. Something about that Jesus statue…or someone else…not visible to me.
“Can you see Daddy, Grin?” Is he waving at you?
The wag and wiggle! I hope that meant “yes.” Wish I had the sixth sense that dogs do.
“I’ll take care of the house while you’re gone, Dad. See ya soon.”
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