Gypsy

Two weeks ago, my beautiful, loving best friend Gypsy died suddenly of a seizure. She wasn't old. She'd been having small seizures for a year.

I'm beginning to get used to walking without my shadow beside me - to going out the door without her rapturous excitement preceding me - to going for a ride in the car alone - to working with clients all by my non-wagging self - to sleeping without hearing her running and barking in her dreams. I'm getting used to being greeted only by a silent house when I come home.

Nobody eats the cat food any more, other than the cat, so I can leave the bowls on the floor now. There isn't much red fur accumulating on the carpet these last two weeks. I haven't vacuumed as much. I don't have to stop what I'm doing every afternoon to spend five minutes quietly hugging the dog any more. That gives me more time to work.

I wonder if maybe the afternoon hugs were for my benefit.

I never wanted to be accustomed to this.