The One With No More Dead Dogs.

Dear Lover,

I remember scaring Mother Mary.

When I was 9 years old.

For wondering off from her in Disney Land.

To go buy one of those fruit drinks.

In the plastic Disney character shaped containers.

She yelled my name.

Frantic.

Desperate.

Spinning.

And I walked back.

Slurping on my fruit drink.

In the plastic Pluto shaped container.

And said, "Yeah?"

Calmly.

Nonchalantly.

Well.

Let's just say.

Karma finally caught up with me.

For when I arrived home today.

And found that Dorothy Parker was no longer in the backyard.

I was overcome with that same tightness.

Spinning tunnel vision.

Crushing despair.

Of not just loss.

But the unknown.

The unknown.

Yes.  I think that's the hardest.

Thank God for Office Max and their near-instant copies of Lost Dog flyers.

(Even if the clerk never spoke a word of condolence.)

Thank God for Animal Shelters' Lost Dog forms.

(Even if the receptionists were too busy munching on cookies and laughing at each other as tears streamed down my face while I filled the form out.)

Thank God for Microchips.

(Even if that article I once read claimed they could cause cancer.)

And thank God for dear friends who take control of the situation and drive you around for hours with their brights on and windows rolled down.

(Even if it was a wasted Friday night because who should stroll up to me in the driveway hours later with her tongue hanging out the corner of her mouth, yapping.)

Dorothy Parker.

Thank God.

Love,

Me.