A DOG’S TALE
The dog always sat on the windowsill, waiting.
The old lady opposite called him Rocco.
On the few occasions when our paths cross she barely spoke, especially when asked about her dog.
Looking up when mowing the lawns, Rocco would always respond to my wave with a tail wag. Strange that I could be so fond of an animal that I had never met.
When Rocco disappeared I feared the worse.
Mrs. Smith was buried today.
And Rocco is no longer here.
It may be a little while but soon he will be mine, his days of waiting gone forever.