OK, so I’m a little distraught. A lot distraught.
My Sylvia, the best pug in the world, passed away this morning in my arms. She’d been feeling sick the last couple of days, but we thought it was something she ate or just some small sickness that dogs get and seem to get over quickly.
She was only just 11. I got her when she was only 8 weeks old, and I still remember how tiny she was, how she rode with me on my lap all the way home from deep southwestern Missouri. I will remember her smile most though.
She’s in bed now, wrapped in a pillowcase, cooling. I closed my sweet baby’s eyes and I go in and look at her every few minutes. It happened early this morning, and Deb’s not here, so she doesn’t even know yet. I do not look forward to telling her that the mama’s pug has passed away.
At some point I have to bury my baby here at the house. She will be the second pug I have buried while living on this lonely country road.
Sylvia, I love you and I always will. You will always be daddy’s girl. Go, now, and frolic and look after Hector.
I will never forget you, Syl.