I was upstairs putting food out for the pooches. They’d had a long day with their Karie and I figured they’d eat and then pass out and sleep until morning. As I put the food in the dishes, BuddaBubba came running over and sat there expectantly. But Carm was nowhere to be found. I called him a few times. Then I checked all his favorite nap places on the second floor. Then I figured he was sound asleep downstairs and just couldn’t hear me. So I went downstairs and still couldn’t find him. So now I’m calling in a louder and louder voice, “Carm! Carm” to no avail. Now I go to both the front and back doors and call for him. Maybe he somehow snuck out when I was making dinner. Nope. I go through the house a second time, calling and getting more and more frantic, looking under beds and couches, sure I’ll find him there dead. On my second sweep downstairs I stop in front the the shut bathroom door. It’s kept shut to prevent the doggies from also using it as a bathroom. I remembered I’d gone in to wash my hands. I open the door and Carm saunters out as casual as can be and heads upstairs for dinner.
All I could think was how this dog barked if a bird feather fell, if my bed creaked when I turned over, if a car door slammed two blocks away. But give any response that would have told me where he was as I ran through the house screaming his name? Not so much.
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