I love him.
I don't know when it happened.
I don't know why now of all times either, especially since he just chewed my Curious George Anthology, which must have been like devouring a phone book, that Nut. Why not choose Peter Rabbit or some other, rather delicious, semi candy coated, likely sticky, old, but far smaller children's book also stored in the garage to gnaw on?
I adored that big, yellow book about the man in the big, yellow hat. Yet still, even after that, I find myself more attached then ever before to him.
Big yellow dog.
Yesterday, delivering that dog to the kennel was the hardest thing I'd done in three days.
AND maybe it was the hardness of the previous three days that had finally hit me, as I walked him, tail down, eyes full of dread, into the place he normally loves to go stay and play. His kennel is cushy to say the least. They call it a pet Bed and Breakfast in fact.
But we three; boy, girl and me, we were teary eyed and emotional walking away from Rosa, with her blue hair, pierced face, muck splattered boots, as she tugged our reluctant, big, yellow doggie deeper into the yard of the place he'd stay this week, while we began our camping adventure followed by days of Sea World, Legoland, fireworks and Fourth of July - our summer fun continuum.
I never knew that I was going to love him more. I thought I loved him already. But I think I fell, at last. I think I've fallen and I can't get up.
We miss you stinky boy, but I'll be back for you.
