Snatch the kibble from my hand…

…sometimes, that is OK.

BEYOND A MOMENT OF KINDNESS

My house is quiet. Sometimes when I am lying in bed or reading I hear familiar sounds. My heart races, I’m overcome by happiness and anticipation. But then I realize they were ghost whispers, not real. These sounds are of all my past dogs, talking to me, telling me it’s time to go somewhere or gently letting me know they want to come up on the bed.

I am amazed at how these subtle nuances can trigger such strong emotion in me. After I realize it was only an  empty house sound, I feel my heart sadden. I turn my face into the pillow or go and stare out the window. I am hoping to see that familiar gait, that ear to ear grin, that “Hey! I’m so glad to be home” dog rustle. I long to hear their “stories” of that day’s adventures or the sweet scolding for staying away too long.

That incredible look into my eyes.

But the bend in my driveway is empty. My dog is not coming home. My dog is never coming home.