It was easier than thinking about losing one more thing that smelled like my husband.
I also, apparently, completely forgot to seal the old dog door.
I dropped to my knees.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “Hey. It’s okay, boy.”
The dog watched me, trembling, tail giving tiny, hopeful flicks.
He looked older than I remembered.
More gray around the muzzle. But the scar on his ear looked painfully familiar.
“Is that you?” I whispered. “Doblo?”
He took one hesitant step, then another.
When he was close enough, he licked my hand, then shoved his head under it like he’d never left.
I burst into tears.
Great, ugly, relief-soaked tears.
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