Having not seen Arthur, the Bali dog, for what must have been some three weeks now, I had decided that he must surely have become either roadkill or someone's dinner. Imagine my surprise, then, when he showed up this morning during my customary walk with the big fat brown dog!
"Arthur!" I sung out.
Arthur ignored me.
"Arthur, come here, boy."
Arthur gives me a sidelong glance.
"Umm … do I know you?"
"Do you know me? Of course you know me. You were at my house every day twice a day for nearly a month!"
"Likely story."
"I gave you sausage every morning."
"Sausage?" Arthur says, betraying the first sign of real interest.
So Arthur followed us back home, to see, I suppose, if there was anything to this intriguing mention of sausage.
We shall see how long his friendship lasts this time. Or how long his memory persists.
"Arthur!" I sung out.
Arthur ignored me.
"Arthur, come here, boy."
Arthur gives me a sidelong glance.
"Umm … do I know you?"
"Do you know me? Of course you know me. You were at my house every day twice a day for nearly a month!"
"Likely story."
"I gave you sausage every morning."
"Sausage?" Arthur says, betraying the first sign of real interest.
So Arthur followed us back home, to see, I suppose, if there was anything to this intriguing mention of sausage.
We shall see how long his friendship lasts this time. Or how long his memory persists.
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