By now you know, probably, that the Microcosm lost its Faithful Companion Scout. Just writing that still brings tears to my eyes. Such is life and well, I guess, death.
I have been lost in grief, I won’t kid you. It was too soon. Scout and I still had roads to travel but maybe that traveling is destined for another plane of existence. Maybe he and I will be writing a hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy of our own. Who knows?
All the while there is Sophie.
Sophie smelled the spot in the grass where Scout laid before we placed him in the van for his very last car ride. She won’t lie in his usual spots or play with his toys. She now cuts her late night walks short because she doesn’t have Scout to walk with. Her self-confidence has dwindled.
I wrote a post last year about how Sophie reacted when Scout had to undergo a procedure, how sweet she was to him when he came home. For a while after he passed, I know she was expecting him home. She wasn’t alone. I saw him pass but it was unreal to me. How must it have been for her?
She sits in front of the chaise where he always sat, looking out the window. She doesn’t sit on the chaise nor even place her paws on it as she would have done when he was alive. She sits on the loveseat nearby. She doesn’t sleep on either of the dog beds in the bedroom. None of my other dogs ever had this depth of reaction–that I noticed. Perhaps it existed in ways I didn’t understand.
If a delivery arrives, there’s no barking. Evidently, my introverted Scout was the guard dog. Did I ever tell you how he’d take his toy and walk in circles around the living room after a delivery? How the delivery guy from Chin’s Kitchen used to chuckle over the sweet black and white dog with the over-sized plush lamb in his mouth walking in circles? This is a heart memory if there were ever a heart memory. My Scout.
I think maybe I need to wash covers. To remove Scout’s scent. And, yet. I’m not there yet. Somehow I feel like washing the chaise cover, the dog bed covers would be to eliminate Scout for good despite my knowing that it won’t remove him from either Sophie’s or my heart.
We’ve had several days of intense thunderstorms, which Sophie hates. Scout used to hate them too, running upstairs to the bedroom and his refuge until his hearing got to a point where thunder was nothing. Sophie and I were chased into the house by the winds first, which howled and bent the willows. When I told her to go the door, she ran. Sophie leaned against my leg today, shuddering, hating the lightening and thunder.
The storm passed. A brilliant sunset arced on the horizon, laden with fuchsia and orange. Scout’s still with me, but only Sophie and I watched the sunset.
We’ll figure this out. Like so many other things, it will take time.