All of my hubbub about not being able to walk Obo to his plane came back to bite me in the tushie. The ticket lady was happy to let R accompany Obo to the gate, and would have let Buckaroo and me go as well, but I forgot my driver's license. Gah!
I told Buckaroo that Obo was riding an airplane back to England, and Buckaroo didn't understand why he couldn't ride on the airplane, too. Eventually he gave lots of hugs and kisses and was distracted by something shiny.
So Buckaroo and I rode the escalators, shared a cookie, played with the rental car telephones, and mashed ourselves against the giant windows so we could watch the supply trucks come and go.
Sweet P opted not to join us at the airport. She is poo-pooing that whole crying-in-public thing these days. She waved from the porch as we drove away and then made a big batch of Beat the Blues cupcakes.
It's quiet in the house now. Even Buckaroo's favorite game of Tackle the Dog couldn't match the silly wildness that Sweet P and Obo cooked up.
Frog Mama and the FMF came for a swim in the near-hurricane winds today (good friends that they are), and that kept us busy and chatty, but as we were waving them goodbye Buckaroo said, "I just want Obo to come back now."