Oliver

I was coming out of the pet store tonight with a billion pound bag of dog food for Harlow when it struck me that Oliver's death date came and went unnoticed by me this year. March 9th. Last Monday. Not that this is a date that need noting, really, but I never had a birthday for Oliver. I never knew when it was, so while his death date is sad, it's a moment to reflect on him.

Missing it made me feel bad. And burst into tears thinking about him. As I put the bag of food in my trunk, a weird montage of memories of him came to me like in a movie. Him running across my lawn with his ears flopping up and down dramatically in Florida, driving him home from the foster family when I first met him - him resting his chin on my hand on the stick shift, him scrambling to his food dish when someone knocked at the door (always afraid they would take his kibble!), holding him as he left.

Why does that feel like such a privilege? To hold your friend and say goodbye as they fall asleep and then leave? I don't know, but it does.

Oliver was my heart. He was my little shadow. In a way, his cantankerous nature almost made him my dog equivalent. I felt an immediate bond with him that I wasn't aware of at the time until I adopted Harlow and found bonding to be tougher. Warming to Harlow has been slow. She was a challenging puppy. High energy, smart, clumsy, large. But I love her more and more every day, and I feel like she is becoming more of a kindred spirit to me as time passes and she matures.

I'm sad thinking about Oliver right in this moment, but the the missing isn't as painful as it once was. I think about how nice it would have been to see my two dogs together, but oh the jealousy!

And Harlow? Boy, would she have annoyed him!

the smirk!

One of my favorites form a furcut day

such heavy ears