plots cooking

In 2006 we’ve upped the security. Alongside the big-bellied, always-sleepy Simba, we’ve got Kida. She doesn’t bark a lot; in fact, she doesn’t do anything much but sniff and look worried. Perhaps she knows more than I do; we did get a beautiful Doberman a few months ago – Rondo – but she lasted a mere two weeks. The other whiteskins on campus believe that Rondo was spotted, watched and stolen. There are two theories:
1) A car pulled up, a door was opened and Rondo was bundled inside, driven down to Lae and sold for over one thousand kina; or
2) Rondo was stolen by people on foot, who took her home and ate her. (most favour this option)

These other whiteys have been here for a minimum of five years. However, I still don’t believe that’s what happened: I think the new dog merely ran away, and probably found some new people to feed her. But I am still a nupela, young and naïve.

Not much else to report at the moment. Work is big and busy and has its unexpected moments; the director is leaving at the end of the month, people are a bit on edge, some letting a little ambition shine through, others withdrawing, turning to their family life as if turtles gaining cover by withdrawing under shells. People always react to change in particular, personal ways.

Me? I’m just itching for some type of change. I hate sitting still! Today I began my campaign (in a minor key) to try and move house. In my twenties I’ve moved a little more frequently than annually, and I don’t feel like giving up this habit this year. But shh! Don’t say anything; there is an old Italian priest here who is a bit of a curmudgeon and hates change; I know he’ll find some reason to prevent my release. Until then, I will spend time rearranging my furniture.