This afternoon I lost my only “child”. Clark was a big white Great Pyrenees. July 25th marks his 1 year anniversary with my husband and I. Our pup has been with us for almost our whole marriage and I have not lived in my current home without him. I am haunted by his death and I needed to get it out. This prose is my attempt to get it all out and start to heal.
Half Chewed Rawhide
Rays of westward sun illuminate stands of soft white fur against the vibrant area rug; a comforting oasis from the hardwoods floor.
A frosty breeze from the air conditioner vent gives the fur a slight loft and the stands billow and dance.
As I take a step back, my heel is greeted by a fresh wet patch of your drool and the sharp edges of a half gnawed rawhide.
I fall to the ground and hear the farmhouse creek from years of age, but still I turn my head over my shoulder hoping to see you.
I am haunted by false appearance of life. I know you are gone but my mind, a broken mirror, causes the fragmented memories to cut and dig into my soul and I am left with a distorted memory.
I recall a warm friendly greeting as I returned home from lunch. Your fluffy tail audibly thumping against the dishwasher; to an eerie light knock on my back door.
I am back sitting at my computer desk desperately trying to finish as assignment. My back turned away from the highway a mere 200 feet away from the highway.
I see your great big happy paws pounce down the stairs and your cow-like hind end frolicking out the back door to a bit of sunshine. The image now overshadowed by your lifeless body in a pool of blood partially curdled by the hot July sun. And the jarring tire mark across your snow like fur.
My guilt and sorrow keeps me company through the night and I watch the sun pour in my living room from the east.
The half started rawhide has dried up over night and the wet patch on the rug is gone. Pretty soon the reminders of your life will start to dwindle and the patches of sadness will become further away.
Till then, I will live with a hole in my heart.