Goodbye to Kevin Bacon

It was sheer bliss not to worry about Kevin Bacon anymore, but I must say, I felt a pinch of sadness when two days later the woman came back, delivering the poor Kevin in neatly cut and bagged portions. 1 remembered the beautiful little piglet, who so enjoyed his bottle, and gorged himself to death's door on overripe apricots. But life is life, and he was raised to be slaughtered. I must say, when Jan asked me over to dine, and I got a pork chop on my plate, I was feeling a bitty strange, and realised that Jan, Rene and Andreas was also a bitty slow to start on the beautifully fried meat. But I am not a very queezy kind of person, and after I had put the first mouthful into my mouth, and it tasted so good, I ate away quite heartily.
Jan went to Johannesburg after a few days, and I was left with the kids, who, Rene excluded, was no problem at all. Rene was in a very difficult place, and would not get himself out of his room, where he played computer games from morning till night. 1 left him to it, as it is no small thing to loose your mother, and as he was now seventeen years old, it was really hard on him.
But after a few days I decided that he could help a little bit with the dog, as I had to leave the other two when one of the villagers came to tell me that he was reeking havock somewhere, and I had to go and see what was up. Jan had spent another full day on trying to make the fence Mobi proof, but it took the dog only half a day to find a way out.
The villagers were by now very fed up with the dog, who was just not the type of dog to be let loose between them, and I had to explain over and over again that the dog was leaving when Jan came back.
It was quite challenging to the nerves, as Mobi would come home at about five, have his dinner, and I would try and mend his escape hole, but he would quickly find another weak spot, and took to the road, his nose to the ground. Then at about two in the morning he would come back, and as he never managed to find his escape hole again from the outside, he would sit at my gate and howl.
When Jan came back he started phoning around to try and find a new home that was suitable for Mobi, as he was just not born to be a pet, and he never bonded with one of us, only coming home to eat, but never lying quietly close to somebody. Jan had read up on the internet about Bloodhounds, and apparently they are working dogs, and do not make good pets.
After some time he did find somebody, and we all shed a few tears, I don't know whether from sadness or relieve, but I think it was both!