Roo died in my arms, under some shrubs, lying in cool mulch on a warm day in Maine at 2:17 PM on September 11th, 2019.
I’m in the camper, realizing that the smaller the space, the more emptiness it can hold.
Good-bye, Chig. It kills me that you are gone. I hope you heard the last words I said to you, the same thing I told you every night before bed:
Where goes the Rooki goes the daddy. And where goes the daddy goes the Rooki.
She loved hearing that.
I’ll write more when I can see the keyboard again.