My son moved in with his beloved and her two dogs a few weeks ago. Yesterday he came by and picked up our dog and the dog's worldly possessions. I wish I'd been taping this old, goofy dog's ecstatic reaction when, first, my son picked up his collar and leash and second, when he realized they were going to go somewhere in the car.
I assume all went well, because they have not returned.
It's been eight years since we brought him home.
I'm not going to miss the hair everywhere.
I'm not going to miss the drool on my knee.
I'm not going to miss the fifteen-minute toileting excursions.
I'm not going to miss dog farts in the middle of the night.
I'm not going to miss scheduling my life around being home for the dog.
But I sure am going to miss the love.
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