The classical radio station fades in and out
no matter what she does with the tuner and
antennae after the two-year old grandson
played with all the dials the previous even-
ing. She nibbles an oatmeal cookie and
sips the coffee as the Chocolate Lab sits
in front of her drooling from both sides
of his mouth onto the throw rug which
covers the new carpet. The fan moves counter-
clockwise to push air downward to help cool
the woman and the dog. The spring days are
warming quickly in the desert — above average
for this time of year, boding an even hotter
summer. People ask her when she will be leav-
ing for the cool, spring days of home. She
hadn’t thought about the remaining three
weeks until she listened to the dog’s in-
creased panting even in the morning. It’s
ten a.m. She gets ready to head to church.
She knows it will be too hot in the car
and there will be no shade in the parking
lot of the church, so she says, “You have to
stay home, Bud.” He drops his head and
heads to his bed in the bedroom. She closes
the door feeling a twinge of guilt. He made
his point. She trusts he will jump for joy
when she returns. As she walks down the
stairs, the dog goes to the window and
watches for her to pass. He will be
awaiting eagerly when she returns.
She knows she can count on that.