Crying Time 07/29/2010
 
 
The black suitcase was prominently displayed on the bedroom floor.  She knew it could only mean one thing.  Not again. He was leaving.  She had tried to make things different these past few months, tried to heal the pain from the last time he had left.  She made it a point to be more pleasant, to welcome him when he arrived home from work, to take care of his every need.  Lately he had been preoccupied, aloof, distant.  She should have recognized the pattern, anticipated whatever it was that was making him go; headed it off with more love and affection.  Now it appeared, it was too late.

How far should she have gone to serve his needs?  She had her own life to live, her own priorities.  She liked to take long, slow walks.  He was always in a hurry, cell phone in hand, distracted.  She didn't like it when he just sat and watched TV, or read a book.  She loved the outdoors, activity, breathing in the clean fresh air.  Perhaps they had too many differences to make it work.  Perhaps their breakup was preordained.

On the ride to the airport he had been so quiet.  He said all of the right words; said he'd be back, and that things would be alright.  They would be together again, and it would be good like before.  As the car pulled away she had her doubts, but held back the crying until he was out of sight.  The kennel owner led her through the door to the small enclosure that would be her new home.  For how long, she didn't know.

For My Fellow Dogs

Buffy
 


Comments




Leave a Reply