The Lost Time

Sassy June In The Snow


It makes me want to cry, thinking of her, all those years, born and growing in the wrong place.

How could we have known?

As we walked our trails in sun and wind, rain and snow, light and dark. As we shared canned ham and chili dogs and Slim Jims.

As we rode where we pleased, the window open, and you not poking your nose out through it as dogs are supposed to do.

To think she languished in unhappiness as we arrived at the top of Nishan Hill and all the world was beautiful and perfect. Even the thorns that prick us are perfect elements in this perfect world. We drip perfect blood.

The hugs and kisses and “My beautiful boy!” Freedom to come and go and chase rabbits or sleep in a mound of Autumn’s dried leaves.

Where was she as we navigated a thousand walks, two thousand days, four thousand meals, eight trips to the vet? Seventeen stitches and that stupid plastic lampshade and you unable to walk after the vestibular syndrome.

As we both slowed.

Miles and getting there no longer the goal, nor metered and measured allotted times. Living in the right now always and growing closer than even we knew was possible.

It hurts to think of her lonely, scared, or cowering, or treated in any way less than a perfect gift from our Cosmos.

I wonder now if she ever remembers. A family, and children, to which she was bonded no matter the circumstances. I wonder if she thinks of now. I’m hoping now is filled with love and joy and comfort, and let’s leave it at that.

And I wonder if she ever thinks… “All those years.”



About Pazlo

Armchair Zen Master, father, fisherman, grandfather, poet, brother, naturalist, collector of old things, dog person, human.
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