The Worst Thing: Lost Dog

The night Dave died was awful, but not the worst. That was the next day.

The next day his bigger dog, the blue heeler, slipped his lead, jumped the fence, and ran away. 

I started off calling the dog, then screaming for the dog, then asking the neighbors, then falling on the floor asking the remaining dog for help, then hyperventilating and asking my dead brother for forgiveness because I let him down by losing his dog.

For some reason I called Gary and sobbed to him. (Pro tip: "Just calm down" is not helpful.) Then after that, still on the floor, I looked at the other dog's tags with "Am I lost? Call -- " just as Dave's phone dinged.

And miraculously, of all the codes Dave had given me the ONLY one that worked was the one for his phone, so I got the see the text from one street over that read "We have your dog."

Horrible up till then, though.

Comments

[Allison]

Oh. Oh my GOD. HORRIBLE. And thank goodness.

[theQueen]

Allison - it WAS awful. And no doubt some transference about Dave.