All the Little Things

It was quiet. Too quiet. I’d become accustomed to the patter of little feet following behind me, of constantly looking around my own feet to make sure I wasn’t about to step on her, to seeing her curled up in one of her many beds, to her snores and squeaky yawns, to impatient yaps when I didn’t let her back inside fast enough, to her theatrical spins and running about harum scarum as I prepared her food. It was too quiet. But she was everywhere I looked. From the beds still scattered about, the blankets she loved to burrow into, the few toys that she never played with on the ground, the gate across the hall to keep her from wandering, the stairs she needed to get on the bed. She was everywhere and nowhere. The hole she left behind was cavernous. And now here I sit, alone, wishing with all my heart that dogs’ lives weren’t so short and what I would have given to have more time.

Unknown

She stands on the brink of the unknown. Ahead is possibility, freedom, a potentially bright future but also uncertainty and the risk of failure. Behind is everything she's ever known and while she doesn't necessarily love it, the familiarity of it is comforting. But it's also a prison and the unknown is becoming more and more tempting. But what if she should fail? Could she bear to return to the life that she was so tired of, a life that felt meaningless and routine? She wanted adventure, to see the world, to truly live. She was tired of being bogged down by the mundane. But her friends, her family, they were all right there, so close. How could she survive without them? They were her rocks, her pillars. What if distance should cause them to drift apart? That she knew she could not bear. And so the fear kept her at bay, kept her from taking the leap. She felt bound to fall and if she did, could she rise again? But what if maybe, just maybe, she flew?