Member-only story
I Lost My Brother To The Harvest Season
At the time she married, my mom had a Bassett Hound called Pluto.
My family lived in the countryside. Our neighbors owned an extensive crop plantation.
Pluto crowned himself king of the whole land. The road that led to the village became a majestic throne for his naps.
The harvest season started at the beginning of July.
In June, before the ears of wheat crumbled to the ground, the plants were tall. The perfect scenario to play hide and seek.
In the sunniest hours of the afternoon, my brother and I ran through the fields, in search of a hiding spot. Pluto was supposed to find us.
We had a few hours before the sprinklers watered the plants.
As a five-year-old, I was short and tiny. “Hiding” meant “sitting and waiting”.
Pluto always looked for my brother first. He was choosy about where to hide. He picked trees, walls, moats.
Yet, it was easy as pie for Pluto to discover his hideout. As a hound, he chaperoned most of my grandpa’s hunting seasons.
On that day, Pluto came to me without my brother. We wandered around for a while, but my brother was nowhere to be seen.
