On Monday, August 25, my little cocker spaniel, Sadie Mae, passed away. She was twelve years old. Twelve years wasn’t long enough. I miss what we had: the closeness, the love, the companionship.
Dogs bark outside. I miss Sadie’s. She’d bark at my door to let her in. I find myself looking out the window, hoping it was her. But she’s not there. Loneliness seizes my breaking heart.
After she’d be groomed, I loved her baby powder scent. I wish I had a bottle to sniff.
I love to watch paranormal shows. When I would be scared, I’d pick her up to snuggle to feel safe. Now, I feel vulnerable.
I’m writer and she was favorite office mate. She’d lay on her pillow next to my couch. I stare at her empty pillow—unable to write.
On the drive home from work, I’d be excited to see her after a long day. When I’d open the garage door, her little black nose would peer through the crack. Sometimes she’d be asleep and would be embarrassed, she wasn’t there to greet me. Her greetings warmed me from head to my toes. Now, I open the door to an empty ceramic floor.
This weekend I plan to go to the cabin. Sadie had loved going for walks in Frisco. The last walk we took was up to Rainbow Lake which is my favorite hike. Maybe this was fitting. Rainbow Lake has always held a special place for me. It’s peaceful, beautiful. Sadie and I had walked up there many times.
When I’d take a nap at the cabin, I’d wake to find Sadie asleep on the floor next to my bed. She always found where I was—my little shadow.
Rest in peace, my friend.