Emma stood before the living room window, the curtains pulled aside, and sang, with her arms spread wide: “Tamarno! Tamarno! I love you, Tamarno!”
But tomorrow had not come.
Though it was morning, the streetlights were still on and the clouds hid the sun.
Emma looked around, her golden hair bouncing on her little gymnast shoulders, her chin set with determination, her little gymnast hands on her strong dancing hips.
There sat Chandler, her boxer dog friend with the black droopy jowls and his long, bouncy paws.
Still, as she looked from Chandler, where he sat on the couch, against the rules, and back outside, she could not see the sun.
Her little chin set in its place and her mouth spoke in her chirpy pace: “Chan-Chan, I think Tamarno is here. But the Sun, he’s sneakin’ and peekin’. What are we going to do?”
“I think we ought to eat,” game Chandler’s deep and not very doggy voice.
He sat looking at Emma and she turned with her shinning eyes open wide, “Chandler, you can’t talk, you’re a dog!”
Chandler crossed his paws in importance, frowned like an upside down clown and answered with a heavy sigh, “Oh, I can talk. People just don’t understand it. They call it barking. Except for now.”
Emma’s eyes beamed wide and bright and she poked and prodded Chandler’s mouth and jowls and said, “You know, I’ll be a zookeeper one day, and a vet too. Talking with you could be a good start.”
My boxer dogs speak to me to let me know what they want😉
I am so glad Chandler is not the only one.