Or, perhaps, until my mother's dog does.

If you live near LAX, please be on the lookout for a beautiful black pit bull wearing a purple collar.

I tried not to spazz out about it when Mandy went missing yesterday evening, but it rained today, which means that all the flyers I distributed in Westchester this afternoon (Tuesday afternoon, that is) have been ruined.

More importantly, it means that Mandy's sense of smell won't help her to get back home.

If she's still alive, that is: there are big, busy boulevards near my mother's house, and Mandy never seemed to get the idea of what a street was: most of what she does she does very quickly, very exuberently. The odds may not be that good that she's still alive.

I choose to have hope, which means my new hobby is producing flyers and placing them on lamp posts and trees near my mother's house. (My mother is 70 years old, and recovering from a hurt knee. Furthermore, I want someone to be at the house to greet the dog, should she come home.)

Therefore, you'll strictly get what I need to write in order to wind down—for the next several days, or until the heartache I feel subsides to a dull sort of thumpety-thump I can ignore.

If you can bring yourself to pray for a sweet, spirited fourteen-month-old puppy, please do so.

I just want my my mother's dog back. Other than that, I'm pretty much going through the motions right now. Working, doing housework. And thinking about my dog.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:09 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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