“But I knew that it was neither of our faults what stress had brought upon me.
It seemed, as well, that I had developed a type of phobia.
I was afraid to let him touch ground outside of his cattery.
The longterm pressures of the potential danger of the unknown reactions of the other dogs, and the insane amount of mess in layers that their cohabitance had created, had disrupted and arrested my recovery’s development.
I lamented to my youngest about needing to give him up because I needed to reclaim my rightful rule of the upper levels where music papers, plants, and crystals were desired to be my vices.
And then, while I was shadowed by phone call – and even with sense of malaise still pervading – I suddenly released him.
And he spritely popped out with his jaunty positivity – and then ran around joyfully, audaciously reclaiming every memory as he inspected what remained of our former domecility.
The now layers of muddy paw and shoe prints still everywhere waiting to be mopped a final time….
The echoes in a near-emptied building – yet still warmed by the cheerfully-flickering fireplace, around which the four of us had gathered in solidarity to support our beloved blue girl as she was leaving.
My heartbeat…
Our rhythm…
Began to thrum again…
Despite the lack of thaw as winter’s frost upon my soul retains its clinging.
Candid Corvid Productions 