I just had news that Rocky, my remote-auxiliary-backup dog died this morning.
I have always wanted a dog since we’ve been married but between frequent moves, the fact we tend to buy houses I rebuild from the wall in, and my getting sick far too often, oh, and the 4 to 6 cons a year we used to do, that’s simply not been possible.
Through years of living without a dog, I became somewhat fearful of them. (The dogs who jumped the fence at me often when we lived in Manitou didn’t help. Though one of them was a sheepdog who just wanted to bask in younger son’s presence.)
So when I visited Amanda while teaching a workshop, I was shocked to find that Rocky and I were like…. we’d always known each other. The best part of my arrival in Texas was Rocky doing his train impression. No matter where I was or whether he was in the back yard when I arrived, as soon as the door opened, he’d come charging through the house like a freight train to do the dance of doggy join and get petted. And when I stayed there, he slept on my feet when I wrote. He was in fact “my” dog, even if we only saw each other once a year. (He was also Amanda’s and her family’s, yes, but he treated me like one of them.)
I’m not going to TX this year because of both Amanda’s and my schedule and I told her just two days ago that I could write much better with a dog on my feet.
It’s not going to happen. Rocky went to the rainbow bridge unexpectedly this morning.
He was a good and loyal dog, and I hope to see him again when the time comes.
I will write a post but right now I need to have a good cry.