Rainy Days and Mondays and Forgetting What You Love Always Gets Me Down

Back home we had this little dog that lived next door to us. His name was Apollo and The Duckling loved him with all of her being. The two of them would spend hours looking at each other through our sliding glass door. I used to slip him turkey lunch meat, leftover chicken and an occasional piece of grilled steak. He was the best pet ever because we could play with him all day long but our neighbors, his owners, had to foot the vet bill.

Anyway, I've feared that The Duckling doesn't recall many things about home, namely our house, the horses, chickens and now, Apollo.

I've asked her many time since we've moved, "What did Apollo say?"

Mainly I get these blank stares instead of the "Woof woof" that I would hope for.

Today I asked the same question.

"Arghhhh."

"Apollo was a doggie, remember? What did he say?"

"Beep."

That's our universal sound for a car, microwave, coffee pot and oven.

Not a dog.

My heart aches that she doesn't remember feeding the horses and chickens. That she can't recall the house she was brought home to, and learned to crawl and walk in. I know most of us don't have memories as adults of being one-year old, but we've only been gone eight months.

Eight months is apparently an eternity to a 21 month-old.