That's not what the Death card means

I can't sleep
written 2014-09-21 02:13:41

I'm lying awake in my bed listening for the sound of little claws on hardwood floor.

We took Abby to her last vet appointment on Friday, and I am not okay yet. I've had to be "okay" the whole time, because that's Ingrid's best friend for most of the last 14 years, and she is absolutely entitled to be as broke up as she wants, for as long as she wants. I have her back on that. But man, I did not think I was going to be lying up at night thinking about a little dog.

Ingrid asked me today if I thought I projected a tough guy image, if I thought I had everyone fooled. I assured her I had no such delusions. But still.

There's dog food, and dog beds, and a coat hook rack on that wall that says "WOOF". There's the treats we bought for her last week, when we got her new medicine for her other problems, and the special dog food the vet let us have as samples. I checked to make sure her bowl was where she could get it earlier tonight.

This dog is not gone. This dog is going to be in my head for a while, making me ask if I made sure there was water, or if I took her for enough walks, or was a good human? Was I her human?

Ingrid is already talking about our next dog. I understand that. Fill the empty spot with another little friend who needs a home, who needs love. It's an ideal solution. I need a little time though, or the dog in my head is going to torture me for replacing her so soon.

I didn't mind Abby when she came to live with me and Ingrid, but I firmly established that she was Ingrid's dog. I'd help out, but I wasn't going to form some kind of bond with some little froofy, punting-sized stuffed animal.

I had no goddamn idea.

--2:11 AM, EST, Mt. Airy, PA, isn't it rich?

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