Rainy nights are good for walking. When it's dark and wet no one can see you're crying. You can afford to make those awful faces, mouth drawn back in a silent howl, eyes squeezing shut to blink away the tears, catching your breath unevenly as you try not to make noise. The dog doesn't mind, he's got dog business to take care of. He doesn't know you're crying for the dog before him, the dog that still makes your heart ache with sadness. He's a busy, happy guy. He's getting on with being the new kid in town.
We've had Jasper three days now. He's working out well. He's bonding strongly to us, he doesn't invariably bark at the cats, he doesn't lunge at them at all, and although tomorrow's going to be hard on him when we leave him alone for several hours he'll eventually get used to the new routine. John will stay home for a while, then come home early so the dog isn't all by himself for a full 10 hours. There will be howling and barking, though. I crated him when I went to the store today, and heard him when I was at the door. Poor guy. But he'll manage, he's a smart dog. He likes his crate, that's one thing we're pleased about. He figured out right away that it's his den. He just hates being in the kitchen when we're out here even though he can hear and see and smell us. A pack ought to stick together.
I really like our new dog. I'm sure we've chosen wisely this time. But it still hurts sometimes to have it be Jasper and not Dixie on the end of the leash during the rainy night walks.
The Index
Next Incarnation