Oh, the agony of it all.
The little schnauzer bitch four houses down from us has just come into heat. They're keeping her inside, of course. It doesn't matter. Bao knows. He spends his days lying on the rug in front of the door, catching whatever whiff of her wafts past. He is totally at the mercy of his hormones. And he knows it. He looks at me from time to time as if to say, Do something! But what can I do?
Our morning walks have turned into an extended tour of their front garden. Every shrub is inspected, and marked. Every place at which she may have squatted is sniffed with an almost religious reverence. There are long pauses, during which Bao simply stands gazing at their closed front door. He sniffs and stares, pauses and pees. There is nothing and nobody else in the world. Bao is besotted.
You're too old for her, I tell him.
He just looks at me.
It all takes me back to the not-so-good old days when I was 17, and in love with Neil. He was my first love. He didn't know I was alive, but what difference did that make? I used to wait on a particular street corner for hours, waiting for him to drive by on his way to work. I was pathetic. Nothing ever came of it, of course. Nothing will come of this, either.
Poor Bao!