Changes, Part 2

Note:  This was briefly put up yesterday, then switched with the Earth Day post.  

This is how I found Murphy this morning.  Comfortable, curled up in her bed, snoring.  I tip-toed past her, turned on my computer, peeked back at her, and she was still curled up.  At least to me, she seems content.

Over 14 years we have seen many changes in each other.  But as long as we were running, chasing balls, dashing through our days, neither one of us noticed the little tweaks.  She never sniffed my graying hair and I ignored her whitening muzzle.  Even when she stopped running with me the moment passed quickly because she still seemed energized, anxious for hours of ball throw, willing to hike through snow, swimming in every river and lake we encountered.

So it is, as we have gotten older, with the end seeming closer, that I really notice the transitions.  Each little thing becomes more significant.  Whether she gobbles her food out of her bowl or I hand feed her.  Not coming up stairs to sleep (and now that I think about it, it isn't the going up stairs, it's the coming down that seems to bother her the most).  Wandering around the house appearing to look for something.  Each tiny incremental change impacts me, maybe even more than it effects her.  She seems content to sleep downstairs and she loves being hand fed.  

Murphy is my girl.  I miss her upstairs at night.  She helped me sleep.  Maybe, too, this is her way of helping me let go.  Live with the tiny absences before, well, before she really is gone.  Murph is like that.  Biggest heart.  

Murphy, I love you more than the moon and stars.

Murphy's day.