You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
you make me happy when skies are grey
you’ll never know dear, how much I love you
please don’t take my sunshine
Last night the geek boy crept into my bed. Something he has not done for many a year.
“It feels strange”
“what does, honey?”
“Looking at my room.”
“Someone else is going to sleep in there and look through my window and watch the storms at night and see my stars and look at moon until they fall asleep.”
“Yes, mate, yes they are.”
“And someone else is going to get up early and slip outside and swim in our – the – pool and look at the water and sit under the tree…”
“Yes, yes they are.”
“And someone else…”
“Someone else is going to sit on top of Hammy and water near Tuppy and not talk to them.”*
Blink away the tears. Cough gently. There seems to be something stuck in my throat.
“Yes, honey they are. But if we tell them where Hammy and Tuppy are buried, I am sure they will know not to dig them up. Is that still OK with you?
“Yeah, I think so… but it’s…. weird….”
“Can I make a plaque and put it near the spot? Like ‘Don’t dig here please, dog bones underneath’ or something?”
Today, several private show throughs are due to tour the little house. If they look carefully, right up the back behind the gazebo, a concrete block says “Don’t dig here, dog bones sleeping. ” And under the fern tree? ”Tuppence is here in the ground. She likes shade“.