Yesterday someone dropped by with her puppy
and now I've got at least
a moderate case of puppy lust.
My Bichon Latté died in June at 14
and I've gotten used to not reflexively reaching
for the dog treats when I go to the store.
I no longer expect to see her dancing in joy
when I open the door.
I'm loving not having to worry about getting home
to let her out after three or four hours.
But a shadow of her still hangs around,
reminding me of the companionship she offered.
I really don't want the dog-mom responsibilities,
but still. . . .