It was nearly two years ago, as we were nearing the end of yet another demanding diurnal walk, that I believed I had perceived our elderly dog’s gait had appeared to falter. This led me to comment to Tiki that our adored pet might not survive the forthcoming summer.
“Come to think of it! The way that I feel, I might not survive it either!”, I uttered. “You might be able to package us as a quinella and save on the cost of our respective funerals!”, I continued.
“That’s good! Although now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m beginning to struggle too.”, Tiki admitted.
“This means that we can be buried as a threesome. A trifecta, with the emphasis on us being a ‘boxed’ trifecta!”, I pronounced gleefully.
We’d taken but a few further steps when the stillness of the air was filled with the sound of clapping and laughter. We turned to observe the commotion and were amazed that a gentleman, seated on his second storey balcony, had heard every word we’d spouted.