Little Crazy

He said, "Maybe you should get a new pup."

I ignore the advice. I'm obviously not ready to move on to that yet, I know that I'll be grappling with grief for awhile.

He continues, "And maybe get something a little less crazy."

"Eh. What crazy?" I turn and look at him, slightly perplexed at the adjective. She was annoying, she was demanding, but I didn't really think she was all that deranged.

"Your dog, she was crazy. She played with her kibble. She had to scatter them all over the floor before eating them. That dog was definitely mental."

And I know I'm OK, or at least on the way to being so, when I start chuckling at the memory of that, and we both start laughing at her little oddities and eccentricities...

Yes, it's good, being able to cherish her memory, like I've always been doing even when she was alive, all the time, talk talk talk about her, laughing, smiling, heart full of this crazy fuzzy love for my crazy fuzzy doggie.

The thought of her doesn't wound me anymore today, and that's the best thing that has happened, after the past few days of what seemed like endless grief.


ahlost said...

glad that you're okay Irene *hugs*

Anonymous said...

Word...errr..hear. Good to know youre ok.


CreativeBitchin said...

rose & dave: thanks... it's been a week and i'm feeling slightly guilty for feeling better so quickly... but life goes on =)