I miss dogs and tomatoes.
There has been a dog in my house for many years, until the last few months. We discovered a while back that I was a little allergic to dogs but did not pay it any great heed; the dogs were my daughter's pets and later a third joined us as my wife's pet. I considered them all and, grumpily at times, I was glad they were there. Sure, poop scooping and hair sweeping and the inevitable damage to the air conditioing system took their gradual toll on my nerves, but there was always, for me, a sense of peace and security associated with their needy little faces and finicky barking. And they love me.
Living alone these past months I have not had the now noticably associated breathing problems and I only scoop the poop when I go over to work in the yard, but I miss the sad face of Jeanette, the skittishness of Angel and Tink's frenetic energy. I miss the dependence, I suppose, and the exuberance that is met with the simple act of feeding and watering. I miss the joy of dogdom. And they love me.
I love the flavor of tomatoes, on and in everything. We discovered that tomatoes are toxic to me, and now must be enjoyed in limited amounts, periodically, and there will be an consequence to their ingestion. I miss the simple joy of slathering picante on everything; potatoes, meat and vegetables. I miss steamy lasagna and the rich flavorful mouthful a great tomatoey chilli! I especially miss fresh slices on sandwiches and just eating them solo. I give in occasionally and usually suffer a day or two of diminished breathing capacity for the act, but it's worth it!
I miss the dogs, I'm fairly certain they miss me as well, and tomatoes will always beckon to me.