Chipped

Karen and I have shacked up for 50 years.  Even after retirement we spent maybe eight percent of the day apart.  Karen shopping, walking with Patty, lunch with someone, checking on the kids.  I delivered Meals-on-Wheel, volunteered at The Dougy Center, ran, jogged, shuffled, walked, finally wasting afternoons at the gym.  Then came COVID!

Since spring I’m increasingly aware of Karen’s twenty-four, seven presence.  Apart from her morning walk and weekly trip for curbside pickup at Freddy’s, she’s always here, laundry, emptying the dishwasher, running the sweeper, cooking, sewing, sitting and reading.

Then my Sweetheart vanishes!  In a tiny house and quarter-acre yard, how does a five foot, ___lbs. lady just disappear?  On losing something, especially a person, my anxiety stirs.  I wander through the house, the yard, no Karen.  Then, from nowhere my little lady appears!

I need to track her.  I considered a three-pointed jester hat with a Christmas bell at the end of each point.  If she was not moving or outside I couldn’t hear.  Those ankle monitors folks on parole wear seem uncomfortable and a nuisance. Then it hit me!  Have her chipped!

You know, those micro chips vets put under the skin of dogs’ necks?  They can track a bear in the woods.  Surely I could get a wristwatch-type monitor, continually to pinpoint my Darlin’!

Monday, I’ll call the vet.

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