Empty Nest

God I miss my dog when she's not home. I drove up to the house tonight where Sally and her parents (they are visiting through the weekend) were sitting out in the front lawn in the adirondack chairs. They all looked so cute, but there was obviously something missing from the scene. Arrow should have been sitting right at Sally's feet looking out at the road and "her" fields across the street. Her ears would perk up and she would widen her eyes, watching me as I turned up the driveway. When I got to about the midway point, she would stand up. Staring, she would take one step. And then another. And as I put the car in park, she would run up to my door waiting for me to pet her.

And then tonight, making dinner, she would be sitting in front of the slider watching me. When the turkey meat came out she might have perked her ears up again, wiggled her nose to sniff and see if I just pulled out something she might be interested in. She then would have stood up and walked over to me hoping I would drop some of it on the floor. Or, more likely, I would have given in to her cute eyes and given her a taste. When we were sitting at the table, she would have been under it, lying at our feet, waiting for the left overs on our plate. "Maybe, that will end up in my bowl," she would be thinking.

It is so quiet here without her. We told the vet that she's afraid of thunder. The weathermen said we might get a thunderstorm. I see her sitting in her pen, shaking in the corner while it thunders. He said they'd make a note of that in her chart and spend time with her if it thunders.

Here's what I wonder: Does she think we left her there? Does she wonder if we're coming back? Does she wonder why the kitties aren't there too and why she is the only one to get the pleasure of radiation on her leg? Does she miss us? Does she know we're only trying to make her better?