Written by Ken Carman

Where did you go? I miss our long walks, jumping in the pond with you, sitting together under a tree during the summer. Waiting for you to come home in the cooler afternoons of fall to spring.

You were my best friend.

Oh, your parents try to cheer me up, but they don’t understand me like you did. They don’t throw the Frisbee like you did. They don’t pet me as they feed me, or ask me to roll over and rub my belly like you did.

I remember laying by your bedroom door, you parents wouldn’t allow me in to jump up on the bed like I always did. The few times I saw you I nuzzled your hand and you weakly caressed my head… how unlike you. I was hoping for that firm scruffing to the top of my head from your strong, young, hand. Or to be invited out for another adventure: looking at bugs, skipping rocks, watch as you climbed high into a tree.

I wish I could do that. Maybe the squirrels wouldn’t tease me so.

I remember the last time you climbed… higher… higher… you came down so fast. How did you do that? Then the people came and they took you away.

Then they brought you home, but the last time I saw you they were taking you away. You said nothing. You smelled odd. It was as if you were no longer there.

What does this mean?

I don’t understand.

Please come back.

If you do, I’d gladly lick your face over and over while you hug me. You always loved that.

I miss you so much…
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Ken Carman
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