Chapter 12 - THE DOG TRAY DISAPPEAREDFor months, Emma refused to eat at the dining table.
She preferred the kitchen counter.
Then a small child’s table.
Anything except the big room.
I did not force it.
One afternoon, she pointed toward Bruno’s tray.
“Take away.”
I looked at her.
“The tray?”
She nodded.
“Bad tray.”
Bruno needed something to eat from.
So we bought a new bowl.
Different shape.
Different location.
Then Emma and I took the old metal tray into the garage.
“What should we do with it?”
She thought.
“Trash.”
We threw it away.
No ceremony.
No dramatic smashing.
She watched the garbage lid close.
Then asked:
“Bruno mad?”
I laughed.
“No.”
“Okay.”
That night, she sat in a chair at the dining table for nine minutes.
A week later, twenty.
Months later, dinner became dinner again.
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Healing often looks boring.
That is why it works.
