Right now, I really could use a big old hug from Thorin.
Benny calls me out to the front deck this afternoon, and I find a puppy out there, but not Jack. Oddly, he looks as if he could be the offspring of Seabee and Rascal–white with black spots like Seabee, but with the look of a German Shepherd (or perhaps a Huskie) about him, a pair of small, bright, greenish-gold eyes peering up at me.
He looks pretty well fed, unlike Seabee and Jack when they arrived, and he’s clearly affectionate. But where in the world did he come from? I ask him, but of course, he’s not telling. Did, as Benny suggests, aliens swoop in and take Jack and leave this one instead?
Rascal and Seabee seem flummoxed by this new addition. Rascal growls and snaps at him, sending the little fellow back under the deck briefly. Seabee sniffs at him, stares and then averts her eyes, drawing her head away. “He doesn’t smell right. He looks a little like my Jack, but he’s not Jack,” she seems to say. “Where IS Jack?”
Where, indeed. We call and call. “Maybe he’s down at the farmhouse, you know he hangs out there a lot of the time,” Benny says. He heads down there, the puppy in tow and Rascal not too far behind him.
Seabee nervously darts from food dish to food dish, and then collapses in the center of the deck with a troubled sigh. We can hear Benny calling for Jack. She looks at me with wide brown eyes. “I know, Seabee, I know,” I say softly. “He’s looking hard for your boy, sweetie.”
In a few minutes Benny returns, a puzzled expression on his face. Shaking his head, he shrugs his shoulders. “I–just don’t know. Maybe just rambling around.” He drops his eyes. “You know, could be a snake or coyote . . .”
“Oh–I hope not!” Seabee is looking at me again. I lean down and stroke her silky ears and press a kiss to the top of her head.
Praying. Praying for your little boy. Our little boy.
I really could use a hug. Even better, a puppy kiss on the nose from a certain freckled lad.
Jack, please come home, safe and sound. Please.