It took me about a month to run the vacuum. I couldn't bear to vanquish all the stray Jeffie hair.
There's still a spot that hasn't seen the vac. Just a little slice between the bed and the window wall in my office. It's where Jeffie liked to nap stretched out. There he could easily keep an eye on me, yet be handy to the window and his security duties.
I'd often glance over and see him watching me. If something upset me while I was working, he'd immediately come over, put a paw on my knee and rest his head against my arm. After comforting me or making me laugh, he'd head back to his spot.
It's full of Jeffie hair. On the carpet. Stuck to the wall. Clinging to the bed's dust ruffle.
Today marks 6 months since Jeffie died in my arms.from Leptospirosis.
When I awake each morning there is no longer a soft furry head sharing my pillow.
As I head to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee there is no doggy head pressed on the outside of my right knee.
As I dish up the dogs' breakfast, there is no longer a pup who can't contain a little woof of excitement.
In fact, there is a whole lot of silence in my house. No one barks at the UPS and FedEx guys. No longer does anyone care that the trash service is stealing our trash. Coyotes in the pasture? The current crew just watches.
Not only is there a hole in my heart, but there is a very large hole in my life where Jeffie used to be. By my side and with me like an extra limb.
I know. I know. I cannot collect enough of the fur Jeffie left behind ... but sometimes wild hope, though bittersweet, can be a joyful thing.
[Click the arrow in the upper left to listen]