Oh, Poor Dear Papa!
I am sitting here in the computer room with Enya's The Storms in Africa emitting from my speakers. The tinkle of Maggie's rabies tag can be heard over the din of the pleasant music as she scratches her neck after eating her supper. It is cootie vanquishing and grooming time! Maggie will soon decide whether or not she wants get in the bed and go to sleep.
My father is gone. He gave me my medications, we fed and watered the Magster, and was on his way home after working 10 hours today. He says he can't afford his current lifestyle without working. He also said losing mom's teacher's retirement was a huge blow to his finances.
"Your sister called me today and she could immediately tell I am down in the dumps," my father told me as he poured venison and brewers rice nuggets in Maggie's fresh paper bowl. I filled her water bowl in the kitchen sink as well.
"Well, you lived with mom for 46 years so I think you can have a little down time." I replied. "This has all been so cuttingly sudden and uproarious for us all."
I was washing my tennis shoes this afternoon and this would've been prime Andrew and Martha time.
"Use the OxyClean I gave you," she would say. "And I will hunt you down tome more white shoe laces."
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