Returned from seeing Lucy the shepherd, I prepare for bed, a treat of hot chocolate with cream, and dog three biscuits. Ah. Only two dogs now. These small rituals, rehearsed for so many years, altered suddenly, these gentle reminders turn me into a spin of sadness and missing, tears welling.
While Kali rests, his flesh, his abundant hair, useful for underground animals, round and round, I talk to him throughout the day. ‘Ah Kali sorry to have been so long, we are back now. Everything is alright’. As we enter the van, slide open the door to where he rests on the bed, my hand reaches out for his head which I would tap to say come, for blind he did not know until I touched his nose, ‘Come’, I say ‘Time to exit’. We pass the wood, Kali’s wood, and I know he rests there.
Kaliwood 