There's a reason they call dogs "man's best friend."
This past week, I rushed my vomiting and lethargic thirteen year old Yorkie to the vet's office. She was diagnosed with pancreatitis and hooked up to an IV to get fluids, stuck in the animal hospital for two days. While she's now back home and fine, those two nights without her home dragged on.
Maybe it's because her barks weren't a part of my daily soundtrack. Maybe it's because it was weird to not have to stop what I was doing every five minutes to let her outside. Maybe it's because her presence means more to me than I knew.
It's crazy how simply lying on the couch can feel so empty without my silent and sleeping dog next to me. We don't even have to be interacting, but the little sounds of her breath make her very presence feel like home.
Her presence has been in the background of my life from kindergarten to college and everything in between. She's been in every picture from school dances to birthday celebrations, she's silently dug into her bowl while we dug into our plates at every meal, she's bounced around on every holiday, and she's layed in her bed next to mine every night.
My dog has become more than man's best friend; she's a member of the family. Things become completely different without her around, and all she has to do is lie down.
