It’s Friday, Feb 18, 2022 at 12:28 p.m. One week without you. It’s a quiet feeling I’ll reluctantly get used to — maybe someday.
I miss the stirring in the corner. That sound of restlessness that brings a tiny, 10-pound white-and-tan, wriggling, happy, sassy shih tzu shooting out from behind the ottoman to demand something.
A treat? Outside time? Dinner? A quick rub-down and some acknowledgement? I’d gladly do whatever you asked of me. Every. Single.
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