It’s too quiet

Quiet time is something I enjoy, which probably explains at least in part why I find swimming and riding my bike so enjoyable. But the quiet of an empty house or, more specifically, our house without a dog, is not enjoyable at all. The chooks make their pakaw-pakaw noises from time to time, the gate rattles in the wind, the wireless plays on in the background – but none of these fill the space that feels empty.

And then Halley, our ‘grandpup’ comes for a visit or for a weekend and the house feels right again. She’s not noisy – or big – but it somehow feels that things are back to normal when she’s here. We love having her, seeing her settling in happily and adventuring off to investigate all the rooms, making sure everything – and everyone – is in the right place. She’s adorable; her tiny paws, fluffy tail and smiley face endlessly amusing.

And yet I still feel the pulls at my heartstrings. Perhaps it’s because – although I’ve known her since she was a tiny little thing – she’s not mine, not ours. She’s on loan, just for a bit. Then I accidentally call her Cass – and my heart stutters and my stomach knots for a moment before I can move on. Loss doesn’t go away. It just eases with time, tucks itself away a little. But it’s always ready to ambush you at unexpected moments, to move contentment aside. It’s been a year, but I still miss our girl so very much.

I missed you today, lovely one
More than other days
Although every day has its moments.
Today, your eyes, dark and loving,
Your boundless enthusiasm
Your joy in everything
The giant hole of your absence,
They were never far away.
I missed you more today.
I miss you.