Death Week of death year
First, i returned home from the Sasha + Digweed show with that skull radiance of an acid trip. A giant gorgeous club is a stupid place to dose, especially when they won't let you out for air if you want to come back in, but also because the general state of overwhelm and mild nausea only gets amped when the DJs set a new record for loud and i (
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Which is certainly not to say i don't miss her. I haven't gone hiking in over a month--that was our thing, never just mine for as long as i've lived in hikeable places; i haven't ventured yet to see how i'll fare without her. There was no fun like throwing sticks for that little dog, no cuddler like her, no peace like sitting under a tree in the snow with her running up for a scratch and some love. There is no dog-dance on earth quite like hers, maybe.
One thing i kept thinking after she died was how i may never find a dog again who might be as perfect for me in five million ways, how any dog i get after this might be a bit of a disappointment no matter how i love it too. But i find solace in the fact that this was inevitable sooner or later anyway--that among the things might influence or have otherwise, this was not one of them.
Thanks for your words. People listening to me talk about Zoë have provided much of the greatest healing i've needed here. Just to remember and honor her makes a huge difference. I even set up a little altar with pictures of her, and sometimes i still leave a little salmon or something in her bowl. :)
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