It was not long before our house guests returned from their spiritual retreat, I pumped out espresso drinks and filled the table with snacks for everyone to enjoy. The sun blazing through the curtains filled the room with a cool blue calm that merited a moment of appreciation.
Soon after catching up on the travelers' news, I stepped outside to collect the mail only to be halted by our new neighbor asking if I "see dog". Oh, I see dog alright!
I explained to my neighbor that the situation had been extremely complicated, especially with his other dog barking frantically every time we approached his door and with nobody responding to our multiple attempts to reach them. Unfortunately, we had had no choice but to call the authorities. The man was extremely understanding and relieved that his pet was well and taken care of.
Due to his fragile emotional state, I felt compelled to give in to his every request. Before I knew it, I had given him all of the detailed information pertaining to the local SPCA, their procedures, hours of operation, a map and anything else imaginable that would facilitate in the retrieval of his K9. My kindness knew no boundaries, apparently, as he made his way into my house, through the hallway and into the kitchen where he proceeded to make a telephone call. He introduced himself to my guests (only one of which spoke English) and carried on endlessly about his love of everything Greek, but especially as it pertained to food.
He would not be the first, nor the last neighbor to have made such a show of his endearment with Greek cuisine, but the absolute last thing on my list of priorities at that particular moment was to indulge.