Part 10

I never feel Sadie’s presence in the yard. Never hear her moving around in the house at night. Never feel the weight of her at the foot of the bed.

It’s such a great relief to me. My last fear, when it came to that old dog, was that I would not let her completely go. Even though I know I met Death in Her great hall and handed Sadie’s leash to Her and let them both turn from me and walk away, I have always feared succumbing to the temptation to say “Here, girl,” one last time, just to see if she’d still come.

But it is an emptiness that having another dog doesn’t fill. I’m not haunted by Sadie, but I am sometimes haunted by her absence.

8 thoughts on “Part 10

  1. I still want to come to your house and play tug-of-war again with that big ol’ big-hearted dog. She was more of a person than most people I know.

  2. Yeah, tears here too. Oh, your Sadie love.

    I really like how this October is like a bunch of short stories, but loosely bundled together. A shaggy dog story of the best kind.

    And like everyone, i am compelled to tell you my quasi-supernatural thing: I sometimes feel a cat jump onto the foot of my bed in the dark up here, far from where any of my cats lived or died. It’s not every week, or every month, but just often enough that I don’t really mind the inexplicable part of it anymore.

  3. It does get a little sad here in the middle, but I promise that it moves the plot along.

    I’ve felt a weird ghost cat like that before–never at this house, but over at Park Circle. Which is weird, because you’d think that, if it were just a physiological thing, it would happen everywhere.

  4. Sometimes, when I’m half asleep on the couch, I’ll still reach my arm down to pat Bailey, always laying there near me. She’s been gone ten years.

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