Dogs, Death, and Being Alive

Day three and lo and behold, I awake happy, fresh. Make bed, drink water, meditate and mantra, yoga. The routine completed, I head down to feed the dogs.


Old three-legged Camilla had decided to pee and poop—again—in the house.


But this morning, I was not surprised by the pee after I’d already walked through it unknowingly (like yesterday). When the urge struck her sometime in her lonely night, she at least released it closer to the back door.

The poops, too, were lovingly deposited near the door, instead of scattered secretly amongst Claudio’s room.

Yesterday, when I found them there, I knew she must have woken up at some point in the night—angry that her master wasn’t asleep beside her—and decided to do something about it. That, or she was simply too sad or in pain to leave her post by his bed.


Maybe my mood’s a little gloomy. This happens. Leave a comment—cheer me up?

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