Oh, my sweet Trickster girl . . . .

Photo copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved.

I didn't know, the other day, that this would be the last photo I ever got to take of her.

The problem with dogs that humans abandon, abuse, starve, and leave to go feral from infancy is that you can never domesticate the wildness out of them completely. On a lot of fronts, that's not a bad thing. When it comes to chasing things human can't see, it can be deadly.

About 10:15 AM, as nearly as we can tell (just after Wings let her outside, with the admonition not to wander), she followed one of those spirits onto the road. Whomever hit her never slowed, never stopped, apparently. I hope their ski day is ruined. She managed to make it back inside the gate, lay down, and that was it. It seems to have been mercifully quick, and after the initial impact, the shock was probably such that she didn't feel much.

We, on the other hand, will never stop feeling it. Our baby girl, 14 months old, who slept on the bed at night curled up against my knees, and against Wings's shoulder in the mornings after I got up. We buried her, in the snow and sleet, with her beloved squeaky hedgehog and her treats. And this rift in my heart keeps growing and growing, and it's never going to heal. She channeled Griffin sometimes, and he'll be guiding her now, but I cannot understand why the spirits continue to send us these wounded half-dead creatures and then rip them away as soon as they're healed.

We love you, Coyote. You'll never be out of our hearts. And my heart, at least, will never be whole again.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.