Week One

My sweet Sven and I have not been able to carry on a conversation without being interrupted by our dearly departed Hunter and his mighty bark, for a very long time.
This is a sample of our beginning attempt at communicating with each other that first week.
Sven was watching the five o'clock news.
I was silently spacing out on the opposite couch.
"That is one good-looking tornado," I heard him say.
I snapped back to the here and now and looked up just in time to see a monster of a storm on the screen plowing through a city, scattering homes and buildings in its path.
"Sven, I don't think you are supposed to compliment tornadoes."

"Well look at it."
I had to admit this one did stand out beautifully against a back-drop of a bright blue-sky.
"People were killed," I reminded him.
The next evening, he says, "Check out this good-looking twister, Millie."
"That is the same one."
"No, it's not."
"How do you know?"
"I know my funnels."
While Sven was busy complimenting killer tornadoes when he had the floor, I was all about critiquing meteorologists.
"Do you suppose they are wearing suit jackets that are too small due to pandemic weight gain?"
"What?" said Sven.
"It looks like every one of them are sticking out of their suits. They can only button the one button."
"That is the style," he said, like he would know anything about fashion.
"Yes, but my question is, was the style created by Covid?"
"Sshhh," he said. "Here comes the forecast."
"If I were a meteorologist, I would wear a bulletproof vest," I said.
"Millie, I can't hear what he is saying."
"Can you imagine how many times a day they have to talk about this God-awful weather?"
"The good news folks," said the guy popping out of his buttons in front of a screen of clouds, "If this precipitation keeps up and it looks like it will, along with below average temperatures and gusty winds, well into next week, Southern Wisconsin will no longer be in a deficit."
Sven and I looked at each other.
"I hope they have secret service."

Week Three.
The rain stopped.
Warm weather and the sun returned.
Our lives without Hunter are slowly mending, and our communication skills are making a little bit of headway.
While some of us miss the retired king of the jungle who used to rule these parts with zest, others do not.
Law and order are out the window here in the black hole just outside Harmony Grove.
Stay tuned for a developing story.

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