At six this morning, I was awakened by the sound of a dog screaming outside my bedroom window-the kind of scream a German Shepherd makes when it's hyperexcited or in pain. A second later, I heard a cat scream, and I knew Kuro-chan, aka the Little Black Terror was in trouble. I hoped she would just hide under the house where the big dogs couldn't
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I'll light a candle for Kuro-chan tonight.
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I found her collar, lying on the spot where she died. The dogs had shaken her so violently it had snapped off.
I put it and some of her loose fur (there's still tumbleweeds of it on the porch) in front of my little Kannon-same. Thought about putting flowers in the spot. Felt silly about it.
It's amazing the ritual you claw for. I scrubbed out the bathroom where I'd put her as I frantically put on clothes/looked for a box to carry her in. I want to throw away the sheets off my bed and the towel I'd used to bundle her in. I want to pressure wash the porch and throw away chair cushions. Change the house. Change the yard. I hate this place right now.
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I still have her ashes, and Dodger's. I still want a place to honor them the way they should be. I still see a radar-eared Schnauzer-type and feel a tug for Callie, or hear a low bark and think it might be Dodger.
It takes time. Give it to yourself.
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