I took her in with the morning newspaper, she’d been chewing the welcome mat again, as I creaked open the early morning door to pick up the milk from the step. She wasn’t a stray, just lost her way, used to live with the cobbler, him with the shop on the corner. And I think it was the smell of my brown lace up brogues that I’d left out forgotten in last night’s dusk that had called her nose to my home. That sensory memory of a familiar life now sadly gone forever. He’d died the cobbler, just last month, from the apoplexy, so it was reported. Apparently it had taken his neighbours three days to smell the difference. She’d been alone it seems all that time with his ghost. I put the dairy into the fridge and contrary wise sat herself by the fire with a small dish of sweet milky tea and a couple of charcoal biscuits I’d taken to keeping in a tin under the sink for just such emergencies.
@Nora O’Dowd thanks for sharing Nora 😘
@Eve Zennarrow thanks for sharing 😘
My pleasure! 😘
Seajade, if I may, I am so glad to have come across you and your work.
From your poems to your prose, I feel your pulse.
You possess something very special inside you.
Thank you for sharing.🙏💐
Thank you for your kind words It’s good to feel appreciated. still working on it…as I guess we all are…thanks 😊🙏😘
Love this!! ❤️
lovely.
Thanks and thanks for sharing 😘
When we rescue....are we not rescued? ✨️
I like to think we are yes hence two lost souls…what we need now is the dog’s tale 😊😘
Animals always know who is the right person to pick!
The one with the biscuits under the sink…😁🙏😘
Naw I hope this is a true story.. maybe not so much for the cobbler..