Thursday, July 1, 2010
You Are Dearly Missed, Sosa Boy
I expect to hear your little toenails on the hardwood floor and feel you underneath my feet as I cook. I miss seeing you sit at the top of the stairs with your paws hanging over, ready to give me the classic "pug head tilt" when I saw you name. Your stinkers are no longer permeating the air around me and your hair doesn't cling to my clothing anymore. I am not used to sleeping through the night, and feel relieved that you are no longer coughing and struggling to breathe. Although I know it was time, there is certainly a void in our hearts and our home with you gone. Rest in peace, Stinkabone. We plan to scatter your ashes around your momma's lava rocks, because you loved them so.