Polo is a dog. A miniature poodle black as the raven and soft as the lamb. He sits in Elfvie´s lap constantly watching over her. You will find him fairly cute, but do not stretch out your hand. This is not a pet for everyone. Polo has scared me many times with his force barking. He still makes me nervous and sometimes I believe he can hear what I think. Maybe you will be able to solve the mystery and obscurity of Polo.
I think Elfvie and Polo have aged jointly. Do not hassle and ask his age. You will soon enough be aware of Polo being on every yellowed photograph since Elfvie´s childhood. I am not that keen of this dog. Although, I do not wish to find him standing in the hallway stiff-legged of porcelain. Polo has a wine red collar with a number plate in case of him getting lost. Every day you can hear Elfvie humming in the kitchen while she prepares his food. Cooked meat, breaded duck, rice pudding and slow roasted lamb is served three times a day. Elfvie sits by the kitchen window and watches him as he eats. She chuckle and snigger at his big appetite.
Once, I stood on the pavement of Beckasin road holding Polo in his leash when a car swishes by out of nowhere. I quickly pulled the dog leash not being aware of the wasp resting in my arm fold. Elfvie dabbed with melted butter and sugar. I remember myself crying. I got homesick and my mouth filled up with sharp metallic taste. I ended up at the retirement home where a doctor dragged out the wasps tag while I tried to count the obituaries on the wall.
Polo and Elfvie are so unlike and have such distinct souls. The black raven patrolling the ground of a glassy translucent elderly woman. Not being a dog I would have taken Polo for my bad conscience.
