“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
I wait to see her face from day to day,
No chicken bits throughout this endless time;
She left me yesterday, an errant fool,
To drive the dusty road. Out, out, short two-legs!
And me? a walking shadow, a poor small dog,
Who tuts and frets while she goes on her way,
My name is called no more. I wag my tail
And feel an idiot, out of bounds and furry,
Mind you, she did say she’d try to bring me a wild haggis home. I’m not sure what they taste like, but she says they have one leg shorter than the other… and I hope that doesn’t mean they have only one drumstick to nibble…
Anyway, as she’s not around, I think I will go and
play mope in a corner.
She’s going to be ages yet… even though she says it is only a few days…