geirstaðahundur

Stopping by a friend's office to chat, we both become aware, suddenly, of the absence of a great wolfish whiteness beneath the desk. We get sad about the eyes and agree that he had been a good dog, verdens kjekkeste hund, the kind of animal properly addressed in heightened language, in Old High Canine if at all possible. We sigh.

She then brightens and motions to the picture of the Boyfriend. It has become clear to her, she says, that he is somehow the reincarnation of that beloved dog. She sparkles a little as she lists their common traits and describes the Boyfriend's slow acceptance of this odd, unorthodox idea as a positive one. I nod.

However, I point out, the Boyfriend would probably not take it well if I were to try rolling around on the floor with him and biting his ears. She owns as this is likely correct.