How To Congratulate A Friend

The old people in front.

The life hangs by a thread really.

In front of my home, two old men, bent by a lifetime of labor in the orchards, skin tanned by the sun of Roussillon. They spend the summer before the door of their garage. There, they expose a few crates of the best fishing of their operation. Ripe peaches to perfection, sips nectar. The kind of fruit that only exist here. You've never eaten better.

On Grandpa's knee, a small white dog, while rikiki. A terrier-eyed, ugly, surly, cantankerous as a little old dog. Sometimes we walk, sometimes we caress. Sometimes it berates.

The fact is that this ugly dog is pampered. It's grandma's baby, the dog with his grandpa. Besides, they are inseparable, and my nice old opposite the lug daily by the vineyards surrounding orchards.

One evening in June, a rumor among the kids of the impasse . The little white dog is lost. At the bend of a vine, Blanco, it is called, is gone. The grandfather has yet well whistled again and again. He asked for it for hours through the green mushrooms. But he returned only this evening, late and without his dog rikiki, bewildered. Blanco poor, poor grandma, grandpa poor.

So my little old could not solve it. There they go at night, pick up their dog, whistling under the stars, traveling the roads, neighboring properties, corners that only they know. But no puppy.

few hot days go by. Children often talk about. What has become of Blanco? One imagines a spree, kidnapped by robbers, is assassinated by mastiffs, leading a life of prince in the company of a bride. I think it died of thirst.

For days, my little old busy, conducting their investigation, stick up signs, scanning the roads, moving later returned disappointed.
worse in the evening they return shot, anxious and unhappy. The granny is in shock, looks good. But his grandpa to let go. He does not smile, do not eat. That is worrying for the granny, who tells me about his ugly overcome distress. Grandpa lost his taste for life. It withers, bends every day, spends hours in his chair, staring into the void.

In the neighborhood, we say "It will pass, it would make a Because "I am myself taking the wrong position, until one day, taking the air, I witnessed a poignant scene.

On the garage door, a bumper sticker. A nice photo of the little dog ugly and short legs, a phone number. Here comes the grandpa on his porch, curved, glancing to right and left. He made some not and freezes before the placard. Now he contemplates his dog ... Considering this picture a long time. I see her eyes shine. He shakes his head slowly, with vexation. His heart is broken. It is sad and painful. It is sincere.

Sadness is a deadly poison in little old. It eats you. And one morning she takes you. Already you have to spend a nurse for blood tests, because the paper is dizzy and got a nice bump on his bald head. It is his heart, he makes his own. He will win, by force ...

From small dog, no more news. We do not seek more. The dog is lost, the grandpa will soon ...

And then one morning a heat wave, a gift. A cardboard box, landed on a car. This is a good girl, the daughter of my little old. A white dog rikiki, brand new, all beautiful, than this box. A baby spaniel. It only needed a large bow to the case.

Buried my little old? Not at all. Here he is all smiles, all gaga for this gift. It is activated as before. Life reasserts itself in two shots Canigou purred. The turbulent hairball, cagua pissing here and there, is simply to save our poor grandpa.