The space she left feels less cold, less dark, less deep. As if we three (along with time) are filling in the shadows of her spirit with light. These days, I hardly look for her, wait for her, feel my feet around for her or have the urge to click my mouth for her.
A few days ago, logic returned. This was best. It felt the worst, but it was best. Best for her and best for our daughter. Best even for me and him.
I don't know when we will have a dog again. I don't know if we will have a dog again.
Fifteen days later, I still miss her tongue mopping the floor, her greeting me at the door, her eyes, her run, her fur... I don't forget the bad worry or the bad bites, the bad barks or the bad frights, but now that she's gone, I much rather remember her tongue mopping the floor, her greeting me at the door, her eyes, her run, her fur...