It's a year ago today, almost to the hour, that Sprocket died down at the vet's. I still haven't quite got over the shock and despair at his passing and I suppose I never will. I think of the little scoundrel most days, especially when out on dogwalks with wee Jocky, and the way his life was cut short by that terrible cancer. Didn't realise he was seriously ill, even on his last dogwalk. Re-enacted that walk yesterday evening with Jock and thought of Sprocky trotting across the field in the lowering sun on his way back to the car. He must have been in pain but he didn't show it. Then I turned to the hill where his ashes are scattered, hoping for a sign that he was with us in spirit. Maybe a gust of wind or a circling hawk. But there was nothing. Just the sunlit brow of a grassy hill against a clear, blue, evening sky. Just as it was a year ago.
A Winters's Harvest
1 week ago