Thursday, June 18, 2009


Bronte, the dear old Perry dog, is failing fast, and somehow she is taking with her the children's childhood, the memory of noisy, cheery mess in a family house, and the busy-ness of middle age when everything demands attention. No more shedding hair and dander, no more puddles (only of late), no more embarrassing run-ins with the council when she wanders - that is the comfortless upside.

But to lose that wonderful loyalty and whole-hearted love, the silky ears, the grace in motion, the meaningful exchange of looks, the understanding and empathy, and the simple willingness to accompany for the pleasure of your company. It is very hard.

"Freedom is when the children leave and the dog dies." But freedom is another word for nothing left to lose. Much as I love Suscipe, cats somehow make it easier.


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