I’ll never forget that snowy winter morning when I was ten. At seven, it was still dark, and frosty outside, my Dad used to crack the upstairs hall window and stand there smoking his Kent cigarettes. He would stand there and stare into the blackness.
His deep, throaty Guten Morgen Cornelia, exhale matched mine as I echoed my answer,
Morning Dad, close that window, its freezing I can see my breath!!
Mom tell him to close the window, we are ALL going to get sick!
KURT, Connie, Angie come look; Mom screeched from the Kitchen; I just saw the hound dog!
Her eyes bulged. I thought she would burst.
What, I countered?
The Hound Dog, the HOUND DOG!
Okay Mom, back up. What hound dog? The neighbor’s dog? What dog?
She shook her head emphatically and said
