Her remains were returned to me on Saturday, and the little paw print was made at the emergency room. I was fortunate to have the shop to go to. I was fed, flowered, and kept busy and distracted. I do feel loved and supported by my little community of friends. I'm trying to be gentler to the Man--he was in love with Piccolo, and feels the loss, but doesn't express it the way I do. The most difficult part of this experience is the time spent alone at home. It's the first in seventeen years that there has not been a little smoosh faced dog to cuddle. There's no reason to come home now.
I'm happy that I was in this apartment when it happened, and not still at that horrible last place. I'm also relieved that I didn't come home and find Piccolo gone, and wonder what happened, or if she suffered. Could it be that she waited for me? I've come to believe that Piccolo looked after me in the same way that I did for her.
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