They stretch as far as they can across the bed. They try very hard to cover every inch of the side of the bed where I sleep. They stare at me without raising their heads from their spot of despair.
They have seen this before. The suitcase on the bed. The clothes and plastic bags spread where they can’t go. They see me standing by my the closet choosing pants and shirts. They follow me to my office where they watch me making lists at my desk.
They spend their days begging me to sit on the couch where they crowd around me like a hot dog bun. Gracie requires my presence in the room when it is food time. George is perfecting the Cocker Spaniel whine.
They know that this happened two years ago. They know that I am leaving.
In two days, on the exact anniversary of my leaving for the Antarctic, I will leave again. For Ireland and the unveiling of the memorial to Edward Bransfield, the man who, two hundred years ago, discovered Antarctica.
I will stand in the rain and remember the man who, although he would never know it, changed my life.
I will be standing with the members of the Remembering Edward Bransfield Committee, the descendants of Edward Bransfield, townsfolk, and any who wish to be there. Some will be wearing the scarves named for the explorer.
The scarves I made.
As I contemplate my travels this time, I am overwhelmed by the connections and the love and caring from those connections that led me to this place and time.
But the dogs don’t think like that. They just don’t like the fact that I will be leaving.
Shoot, they do this when I go to the store!