Sense of loss

Well, this morning our little dog scared me. It came time for me to leave. Belle came when I called; Whitby did not.

After walking around the house calling for him I drove the neighborhood across Country Club Road, fearful that he'd left through the gate following Tal and might have been hit by a passing vehicle, fearful that such a cute dog might simply be picked up by a covetous passerby. In the hour of search part of me was irritated, of course, my schedule having been thrown off, another part of me was surprisingly frightened. After yesterday's reflections on death and life I was vibrantly aware of how dear Whitby is to me and how terribly much I would miss him were he not to come home.

As I came to a stop in the drive way and opened the car door, I thought I heard him bark. Walking toward the sound -- and the pond, I caught sight of him. There he was all the way across the pond, standing knee deep in mud, unable to figure out how to get back to his home territory, barking for help. The persimmons at the water's edge and the enticing smell of deer just beyond the fence (ineffective with the water so low at present) must have been too much for him.

I managed to stay clean through the rescue; he required a bath. And, yes, he got a treat -- not for being a good, obedient dog but for the gratitude I felt in getting him back, the sense of possible loss having been so overwhelming.