White Dog led me to look out of the patio door. Sitting on the bench this gentle early morning was Steve. Zsofia was sitting next to him with her head pressed against his chest. I could tell from his movement that he was weeping
"No, Little White Dog of My Heart," I said gently. "We will not intervene. This is needed. It is what humans do. Zso understands because Sachi was her special friend. They are, in sharing this pain, helping each other."
Then Steve reached down and I realized there was someone else there.
It was Roman, muzzle in place, lying across Steve's feet. At Steve's touch, he rose and rested his head on Steve's knee.
The three sat together, joined in sadness.
"And so the healing begins," White Dog whispered and it sounded like a prayer.
1 comment:
Bless Steve....forgiveness is a hard thing through grief
Post a Comment