Here we are in the latter part of November. My birthday and those of both of my parents have come and gone within the past week. Daed was sent over the bridge on my mother's birthday.
Apparently, however, the reality of this didn't exist in my mind until today. The facts that I've been religiously carrying his name tag around with me and holding onto his collar when I drive were apparently just my reaction to the concepts that are bred into us as mortals.
Today, well, today things became a little more real. This still hasn't completely set in to my conciousness. I know he's gone, but I haven't accepted that fact yet. This afternoon I took what remains home.
My first thought as I left the vet's office was "My boy should not be in a box. He should be rolling around in a field somewhere and chasing anything that moves." I couldn't fathom being able to pick him up with one hand, at least not since he was a tiny puppy.
Today, Daed had handles and a black paper bag.
