“This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real. Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.” ― Rumi
Stuart went out of town a couple of weekends ago to visit his brother-in-law who has had a heart attack. Since he’s the only person in my immediate sphere, I hit the panic button:
“Who’s going to look after Matisse if I wake up dead?”
So I hatched a plan. Should something untoward occur while he was out of town, Stuart should call our Snow Bird neighbors and then Matisse’s groomer, who could board the dog until Stuart or my sister fetched him.
Then it occurred to me what I was asking:
“Leave the dead body; take the French poodle.”
I got a good laugh out of that.
