Over 10 great years, the black puppy turned grey all over. During those years, he whined alot, and required the disposal of two couches before I learned to reupholster the furniture he wore through. ( It will be hard to finish reupping the chair he liked most for the second time.) If you visited my home I am sure he barked at you and jumped up on you, and if you were lucky, you might have seen him become a machine gun or a wizard. He was there every day at the window when I came home, and almost every night when closing up the house I would say "Ready Miller? Let's go to bed."
In the last few weeks, Charlie has been walking (a skill he seems to think is mainly good for finding his mom and stalking Miller), and Miller spent the better part of the day running away from this little boy who was becoming more enamoured with him. I am glad Charlie knew and loved Miller.
I always thought it wouldn't be such a huge deal for me when he died. I thought, "Well, when he is gone, we will get another dog." How did I not get it? Even I knew my affection for that dog bordered on the nuttier side of dog lovers. But now, I don't want another dog. I want MY dog!
...and I want this stubborn and slightly humiliating heartache to end.
Paige and Mabel and I all miss him greatly. And when I let Mabel out these past few days (has it only been a few days?) she pauses, uncharacteristically, at the top of our back steps. I think she is looking, wondering why Miller is not there.
Me too, Mabel. Me, too.
We loved that dog and we are thankful for 10 great years....
