So I’ll leave you all with this moment.
We stopped for clam chowder after our second day at the aquarium, and then walked to Pinkberry. The store was full so we carried our fro-yo up to “bus circle” of the aquarium. That way Mate could finish his fro-yo before going to fetch us the car.
We were talking about Chicken watching the house–and how she was freaking out being alone at night.
“Yeah,” Mate said. “Good call on getting her to room with her brother. Lots of independence, lots of not being alone at night.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve never lived alone.”
But I am feeling old at this moment.
Iron is low, arthritis, fasciitis, and sciatica are high.
“You’ll have a chance between sixty and eighty,” I say, laughing.
“Sure,” he says sullenly. “I’ll have Squish pick it out. She’ll get it.”
“But it’s your dog, because I won’t be there for it.”
“So, you mean, she’ll inherit the dog.”
“That’s my plan.”
“Seventy,” I say. “Maybe eighty.”
“That works for me.”