Luna’s Passing

This was the second morning.

I still look for her.

I made the coffee, and all I could feel was emptiness. Staring out the kitchen window, there was all this wind and drizzle, slapping the palm fronds into some of reality. Wake up? Fresh tears came with my coffee after having been the “strong” one over the last couple of days. I sat there and let it wash over me.

She was sick, dying, and it was time. We got her to McLaren Park, over to her favorite place (the Lake), one final time.

Luna was a rescue dog. A woman who already had 3 other dogs saved her from a previous owner, who had been abusing her. Whatever the abuse was, it left her a bit skiddish and cautious about most things. That home didn’t work out for Luna, as she didn’t get along with the German Shepherd there. The two had many fights.

Around this time, Garry and I had already begun our search. We had seen a few dogs before Luna. None of them stood out like her. She was a big ball of licking affection and energy for days. Her world-class zoomies were a daily attraction (when she was healthy). I could have sold tickets.

Anyway, she adopts us. We are family, a unit, a pack, right up until the reality of time knocks on the kitchen window. It’s as if you’re being slapped awake. Dogs live a fraction of the time that humans do; at some point, the sand runs out of that hourglass.