It has been a month since Buddy crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. Life for the cats was not really rocked. They seemed to have moved on without a care, though I know they both adored Buddy. They loved to cuddle up to him and Oscar in particular showed genuine concern when Buddy grew sicker near the end. Alas, their life has rocked on.

Lucky seems to come and go. He rocked on for a while. The Pyrenees in him had to continue to look after the remaining members of his herd. But he has sniffed the bed where Buddy was once commonly found and has whimpered on multiple occasions. Buddy was a literal mentor to him. In a very real sense, Buddy taught Lucky how to "dog". Yeah, I know there are certain inate characteristics that sort of make this naturally occur, but pups have teachers that teach them what's acceptable in the pack and what isn't. New pups have to learn their place in the pecking order and good, patient Buddy was great about showing Lucky a thing or two. It was Buddy's calm demeanor, I think, that ultimately helped the rambunctious Lucky discover the gloriousness that is the afternoon nap.

As for me, I'll always miss Buddy. If I live another 100 years and own 500 more dogs, I'll always miss Buddy like no other. He is just that special. That different. That much higher. One third of my life was devoted to that dog's care and 100 percent of his life was devoted to mine. it scarcely seems fair, when you put it like that.

I should have had more time with him. Alas, I did not. But I have said it before and I'll say it a thousand times. I am ever grateful for the 15 years God granted me with the sweetest face that ever faced. I was sitting in the kitchen the other night, just kinda lost in thought. Not really thinking of anything. Lost in thought might be the wrong term. I was just kinda blank. Not really anywhere, my mind not really on anything. Randomly, I blurted out, "I love you, Buddy."

Now, I'm fully aware he isn't here. I'm fully aware he awaits me on the other side and may or may not be able to see the things I do or hear the things I say. That's for God to decide, not me. But I know his physical presence is no longer with me. But it just felt good to let Buddy know I still love him. Maybe just in case God allows him to check on his Daddy from time to time.

I love you, Pup. I always will. I don't expect you could read "human" when hindered by your earthly form. But, if by some weird chance, you've slipped those bonds and are free to understand me on every level, I hope that maybe you'll read this little note, direct from my heart, and know that I still miss you. I still love you and I still intend to greet you in Heaven one day.

Until next time this blog is brought to you by the letters W, E and H and by the number 2.