Nov. 2nd, 2009

nunuuu: (giraffes)
Our caretaker has just brought my late Lola's dog to our house, after all this time, because I think my Lola's house will be finally rented out. It 's been two years since my granny died. The culprit in question is an aging golden retriever named Kobe. I don't know what got into my Lola Nating's head that she named it  Kobe, perhaps it's a reference to Japan (the place or the succulent beef), or the NBA player. I wish I could still ask her. It's probably the latter thanks to my granny's lovely quirkiness. Kobe's still pretty lively for his age, and takes to strangers easily. He doesn't bark. And he has the shiniest golden retriever fur I've ever seen. He was playing around under my window this afternoon, and I was calling out his name. He stopped as if hearing a ghost, wondering where the sound was coming from. I did it one more time. Then another. It amused me way more than it should (chalk it up to my strangeness.) Kobe just couldn't figure out who was calling out his name! He didn't look up. 

But then I suddenly found myself crying. I miss her. 

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