Even

 Even when he wasn’t my dog, he was my dog. When we were far apart from each other, sparated by an ocean and a continent or two, I ran into dogs similar to him. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened. Stopping for a minute to pet the other dogs brought me comfort, and I was with my own dog again even if I wasn’t. Just a few words, a question, maybe more than a question, something like: How old is he? What is his name? made me miss him a little bit less.

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One Response to “Even”

  1. alex Says:

    it always gladdens me when I read one of your posts about your love for Rubio. He was so lucky to have you as a friend.

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