Dear Charlie

Dear Charlie,

You’ve been gone a week now.

I miss you.

I put your food dish in the trash on Thursday – the blue one with four rubber paws. I would’ve kept it longer, but Frosty broke it two weeks ago, remember? I put a plastic container in it so you could still use it.

I love you.

Last night, as I headed to bed, I almost bent over near the side of the bed to give you a kiss goodnight. The way I used to – remember? Two pats on the head and one kiss; because back in elementary school, I read in a library book that it’s good to have a signal to let you know when it was time to stop playing, and relax. I didn’t stick to our little signal during the day for long – but every night that I was home with you, since then, that’s how I kissed you goodnight.

It hurts the most in the evening.

I don’t think I had ever realized just how many sounds you made: the sound of your paws on the floor, your tags hitting your metal water dish, your loud coughing, your snores, the clinking of your tags as you walked. I clipped your collar onto my jeans that day, Charlie. Didn’t want to take it off that night, because I wasn’t ready to not hear that sound every day.

The house is quieter now, Charlie.

The house is quieter. It hurts the most in the evening. I love you. I miss you.