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Home again, where the lack-of-dog is strange. Not upsetting, exactly. Just...strange. The bin of dog toys has been moved aside (because Pixel won't be seeking any of them) and the baby gates on the bathroom doors are down (because they were just to keep her away from cat food and catboxes) and the couch has plenty of room when I sit down, and stays that way. The bed is less crowded. No one woke me up at 7am but myself.
I don't need to get the kitten a dog to play with her, even if she'd like one. And the older cats are a bit happier to not have around a dog they merely tolerated. And I can probably start that crochet project again without a dog pressed up against my side whenever I'm on the couch, and...well.
I miss my dog. But it's a distant sort of thing. She vanished when I wasn't there, and that lends the whole process a veneer of fiction. (Or like when I was a kid, and my best friend would move to Russia forever while I was in the US for six months. Missionary life does not lend itself to stable long-term relationships outside of the immediate family.) I had a dog; she's gone now; there's unpacking to do and deadlines to meet. Life moves on.
I don't need to get the kitten a dog to play with her, even if she'd like one. And the older cats are a bit happier to not have around a dog they merely tolerated. And I can probably start that crochet project again without a dog pressed up against my side whenever I'm on the couch, and...well.
I miss my dog. But it's a distant sort of thing. She vanished when I wasn't there, and that lends the whole process a veneer of fiction. (Or like when I was a kid, and my best friend would move to Russia forever while I was in the US for six months. Missionary life does not lend itself to stable long-term relationships outside of the immediate family.) I had a dog; she's gone now; there's unpacking to do and deadlines to meet. Life moves on.