Skip to content

Where’s Your Brother?

“Where’s your brother?” I asked Izzy.

She had been barking at the front door and then barking at the back. When the frantic cacophony dissipated, I realized that Charlie was no longer in his bed by the fireplace that we never use. Loud noises startle him, and her barking certainly qualifies.

Izzy didn’t answer my question.

“Where’s your brother?” I repeated. And I began a scan of the house.

Down the hallway? No. Under the table by the door? No. 

You see, in his senescence Charlie frequently falls into reverie. And with his permanently dislocated hips, he frequently gets trapped. Trapped under things. Trapped in corners. I figured he was trapped in reverie somewhere. But where?

“Where’s your brother?” Izzy remained silent.

Trapped under the dining room chairs? No. Standing behind the philodendron in the dining room? No. Under the rocking chair? No.

“He must be in the closet,” I said.

I went into the master bedroom — the only room with an open door, all of the other doors closed to shorten searches like this one. I looked into the walk-in closet. There he was, in the darkness, motionless, staring into the darkerness under the hanging clothes.

“Don’t worry Izzy,” I said. “I found him just where we thought he would be.”

I walked up to Charlie slowly and stroked his back. Startled out of his reverie, he jerked his head around to look at me. I picked him up and carried him outside to have him wander instead around the backyard in the sun. He did this until he was ready to come back in and settle back down in his bed by the fireplace that we never use. And he will lie there until his sister starts her barking again.