Sequestered in a guest bedroom upstairs, I hear her go back and forth, back and forth, from bedroom to kitchen, kitchen to bedroom, looking for me, looking for Andy, looking for a treat or, like her Mama, forgetting why she went into the other room to begin with.

Masked and gloved, as if either will do any good at this point, I cautiously walk halfway down the stairs, catch her eye and make a “come on” hand signal. She doesn’t come on. Back and forth…the stuff of a dog owner’s guilt.

This can be added to the many previously untold stories of Covid isolation.


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