Missing Magic

Yesterday, I saw a Monarch butterfly for the first time this summer.

And I thought, "It's been almost three months since Magic died." It seems like it was longer.

I still miss him. Oh, it's not so sharp or so immediate that I cry every time I think about him. I remember more of the funny things he did.

I'm not beating myself over signs I should have noticed, or the issues surrounding the eating of socks. Because it was an accident. We never let him play with socks. We didn't leave socks laying around. He stole the socks from places we didn't realize he could get to, until it was too late. Okay, maybe I'm still beating myself just a little bit.

Sometimes I think I will hear the little sigh he used to make when he put his head down on my foot. When the alarm goes off and I'm half asleep, sometimes I still expect to feel the bed bounce as he jumps up to make sure we are absolutely, positively awake and getting up.

I think the hardest part is that he was just a baby. Old dogs, well, in our house old dogs have led a good life. All old pets, for that matter. They get fed well. They have toys. They are warm in the winter, and have cool places to go in the summer. They are de-flead, brushed, and taken to the vet. They get lots and lots of pets, and hugs, and treats. Toys are tossed.
Some of them are rescued from certain death. They have good lives. When they get old and sick, no matter how hard it is, we let them go. We don't want them to suffer. They have been as happy as dogs who aren't allowed to roll in dead things, and cats who aren't allowed to kill every little thing can be.

Magic was just a baby. He won't ever get to go swimming in a lake in the summer. For him the world outside was mostly a rainy, cold place. Not that he minded - he was a happy dog. The world was just waking up when he left it.

I think he would have liked butterflies.