I was feeling a bit dejected on my way home from work yesterday, and all of a sudden, he was there, in his usual place, at my left shoulder. I reached up to pet you. I felt better.
In another month it will be two years since you left us, at least physically. I miss your face and snuggling on the sofa. I miss being pawed when you want attention. George just head butts me, and it’s usually when I’m trying to go to sleep. He picks then to be snuggly. I suppose he’s trying to make up for the fact that he’s hogging half the bed, the top half. He kicks, too, as you know, which is annoying when you’re just drifting off to sleep, and BAM you get a couple of skinny greyhound feet rather forcefully in the gut. He is a twitcher.
I was remembering last night another night, long ago, when I woke up with your head at my chest and the rest of you sprawled along my body. You were so snuggled in and comfy. Your fur was so soft. I miss having a snuggly hound. I miss you.
Don’t get me wrong. I adore George, despite his…quirks. But you were special, oh, so special. You were my heart at least as much as Mary Lou, if not more. She was therapy; you were pure love, inspiration, and heart.