In the morning, the first thing I do after dragging myself out of bed is to escort our pack outside. I fling open the french doors to the screened porch and wave my arms like I'm directing traffic. Which I sort of am.
"Good boy, good girl, good boy" I say as our dogs flow out around me heading for the yard. Not that they are necessarily proceeding in the order of boy-girl-boy, but I like the symmetry of saying it that way. While they are outside doing the things that dogs do outside, I feed the cat and mete out the dog food into their three bowls. The communal water dish is filled with fresh clean water. As I let them in, I wave my arms directing the flow and say again, "good boy, good girl, good boy" as they re-enter the house and make a beeline to their dishes to break their fast.
But that's about to change. Tomorrow when I let them out, I already know how I'm going to feel because I've imagined it many times over the past few weeks (even months maybe). The lack of symmetry will mock me.
Good boy, good girl.... goodbye....
August 5, 1988-July 3, 2004