It’s four-something in the morning and the dark but shadowless room echoes with a hollow, anxious silence.
The moist chill of the fog that blankets the house, the trailing cloak that quietly lingers, entwined in the trees and eaves of homes after the storms of the night before finally, slowly crept along its path, have seeped into me; stealing my sleep.
Slumped forward in the chair, my hand hangs down, remembering all the times it was met by the warmth of that muzzle that rarely missed the chance to share in such moments. To offer comfort in exchange for its own constant need for the same.
But…the hand remains empty, cold, and alone.
Finally, the forlorn fingers give in. Starting to accept the truth, they curl slowly, haltingly up to avoid the longing that turns to pain, knowing that the absence of that unrelenting friendship is what brought me here, tonight.
Rest now, my dear friend. Chase all the ducks as you will and bark at everything you see. Play in endless fields and run to your heart’s content, your tongue lolling as you do. You’ve more than earned it.
The first night, the first attempt at sleep, since having to say goodbye must be hardest…I hope.
