Tomorrow Missy will cross over the rainbow bridge, go to doggie Heaven, meet Jesus…any of those things we say to soften the blow but do no justice to the idea that come tomorrow morning, we won’t have our little girl anymore. Tomorrow she will be just a memory, the kind we pull out at family dinners with a story of how she took a bite of The Momma’s sandwich one time with such a dainty bite. We’ll laugh & talk about the day she joined our family, where we thought Daddy suprised The Momma with a mini doxie as a Christmas present & we named her “Mistletoe” because “Holly” was too obvious.
& then we called her Missy or Miss or even Fiest for the next sixteen years.
We’ll talk about that December 23rd at 11pm when she had a c-section & delivered 3 beautiful pups. How we rubbed them like 101 Dalmations & they squeaked little barks & she nursed them so faithfully despite her scars. There are pictures to remind us of the Christmas morning after the pups were born, where we opened presents with her in the middle because she never wanted to be without her family.
We’ll have those pictures. & those memories. But we won’t have her. Although we’re all ready & we know it’s time, it hurts so badly that right now, I don’t think I can breathe fully.