On Thursday night she was fine, I was about to eat dinner, and Piccolo was ready to beg for some pork chop. Then, in seconds, she was gone. Leaving behind broken hearts, especially mine and the Man's. I spent nine and a half years with the dog of my life. I don't think I've been closer to any creature, ever, and now it is hard to imagine how my daily life moves forward. So much of it revolved around us, me and Piccolo. I was grateful to be at work yesterday with people who understood my grief, and made the effort to keep me distracted. The little community there lifts me up.
One of the many things I credited Piccolo for was helping to get me this apartment. She charmed the landlords into letting me move here. Being in here without her is the hardest part. No reason to come home now. I'm going to knit and sew through this crisis. There are unfinished sweaters that were intended for her, and now the Lucky Penny enterprise is left without a muse.
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