Sunday night before Memorial Day, post ingesting burgers with Aunty, I drove the Mini Cooper up to Westbrook to say hi to the Yaks. Ruth greeted me with a cannoli from an Italian bakery in Hartford. She even artfully arranged it on a plate with sausage and a sea shell. Bull was tan and Ray was looking handsome. I asked about Tim’s drone photography. Recently, I shared the story of Curly’s last days with my co-managers Whitney and Oliver:
My attorney Bull always used the expression “tits up” to mean deceased. When I was in middle school my family’s dog, a mutt named Curly, ran away in the frigid dead of winter. I loved that dog but she was old. Every morning, after my mom had gone to work and sister took the earlier bus to high school, I would call into the woods for her. “Curly, Curly, Curly, Curly, Curlyyyy!”
I had the misfortune of finding Curly’s dead frozen body by the side of the house. She had run off to die, as dogs do, and I like to think she came back in the very end out of love and loyalty. I was alone, crying, and had to suck it up, get on the bus and go to middle school. My attorney finds this whole story very amusing. To this day, out of nowhere, he will ask me, “How’s Curly?” Before I can even respond, Bull will bark, “TITS UP! HAHAHAhahahaha!”
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