Moving sale: Saturday 10-2. Antique furniture and carpets. English bone china. Female apricot poodle – tiny, affectionate and loving. Panasonic microwave, as new.
Polly is moving to a care home. Apartment 405 has been wonderful. Fifteen years of comfort and security with a fabulous view of Morningside Park, but now it’s time. It’s impossible to stay alone any longer. Doctor’s orders. He’s worried about her falling.
She’ll miss the blue jays, the purple tulip beds in spring and the maple trees’ fall colour explosion below her kitchen window. She’ll miss the kindness of Mrs. Watkins on the third floor and Mr. Parker’s cheery sense of humour in the mail room.
Reality strikes at 8:00am. Early birds start ringing, pretending they’ve forgotten the advertised sale time.
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A stocky middle-aged man reeking of cigar smoke asks if she wants a price on everything except the dog. He’s obviously a re-seller looking for the bargain of a lifetime and she dislikes him immediately. “No thanks,” Polly replies. “I’d like to give everyone a chance. This is not junk, you know.”
He throws out a low figure anyway and drops a soiled business card on her table. “Call me at the end of the day. I’ve got cash. You probably won’t sell much. You’re asking way too much, lady.”
Buyers come and go throughout the morning and she sells more than expected. Her china goes where it belongs. Barbara, the buyer, can’t believe her good fortune. It’s identical to her grandmother’s set, Aynsley of England, lost in a tragic fire twenty years ago.
Filled with emotions
It’s 1:30pm. All the major items have been removed or spoken for. She is relieved but saddened. Polly peels off the sold sticker and flops into the only upholstered chair left in her apartment. Penny jumps onto her lap as usual, licks her hand and curls up in a ball.
“Penny, my dear, maybe nobody wants you. I’d keep you forever if I could.” She strokes those silky soft ears. “You’ve been my security system, my walking partner and my confidant. You know all my secrets. Why, oh why, must I do this?”
A good home for Penny
She’s at the point of dozing off when the intercom rings. It’s 1:55pm. “We’re here about the poodle. Are we too late?”
A family of three. Mom holds the door as Dad wheels in Gabriella. She’s a slight, dark-haired girl of twelve with spirited green eyes and a delightful smile. Muscular dystrophy and the wheelchair haven’t dampened her enthusiasm for life. Dad promised her a pet for her thirteenth birthday – will this be the one?
How do dogs know? What innate sense do they possess that tells them when to shift their loyalty from one person to another? Penny jumps onto Gabriella’s lap, licks her hand and curls up in a ball.
Dad writes the cheque, Polly and the family exchange phone numbers. Penny is gone. Polly cries tears of both joy and regret. The next morning she mails a donation to the Muscular Dystrophy Association – the same amount she received for Penny.
Gone home
The care home soon becomes home. The meals are wonderful and she has a lovely view of the fountain in the courtyard. Polly waits for the mail each morning. Cards and letters from friends and family are so precious at this time.
Yesterday an unusual envelope arrived. Messy handwriting. Wrinkled paper. Inside is an agreement.
Heading: Visitation Rights to Penny. The undersigned hereby agrees to weekly visits by Mrs. Polly – Saturdays are best. Your place or mine. Signed: Gabriella Olivia McTavish, 13
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