A year ago I wrote this.
It’s been a year without a dog. I was ok, until I saw a dog that looked just like him at the beach on Sunday. I noticed the eyebrows first. Steve mentioned the tail.
I don’t want another dog, at least not yet. And I know my life is easier. But it’s just not the same.
We’ve been spending every weekend in the yard, and every once in a while we come across one of his toys, buried in the dirt. Neither of us wants to be the first to pull them up and throw them. So they just stay buried.
Sigh. Oh Toby, you were a butt-head, but we did love you so.