He’s supposed to be here.
That’s what I keep thinking.
He’s supposed to be under the covers right now. He likes to go under the covers, over the covers, under the covers, over the covers. He woke me up many nights, but I would do anything to have that back. I would do anything to hear his grunts again, to feel his head perched on my neck, to see him curled in a ball and his big eyes looking up at me.
He was our dog, Melfi. Our 16 month old German Shorthair Pointer that was run over by a truck last Thursday. He died instantly. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I can’t help feeling like he’s supposed to be here.
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