This is Copper. We got him sometime in July when he was about 8 weeks old. He was the perfect match for our female yorkie, Penny Lane. He died a little more than a month later. The vets said the immune system in his tiny body wasn't strong enough to fight off a recurring stomach infection. The 2 weeks when he was healthy were amazing. He fit so perfectly into our crazy little family. He and Penny would run around our bedroom chasing each other and playfighting at ungodly hours. At the time it annoyed me, but now I find myself waking up in the middle of a dream hoping to hear his tiny growls followed by the sound of Penny knocking him off the bed.
I hadn't realized how much crying I had left to do until tonight when I started looking through pictures of him on my computer and on flickr. I'm not good at this mourning stuff. I can't just cry it out like everyone else. I was raised not to cry and I haven't been able to break myself out of the habit. So this happens. I end up crying for 4 hours straight a few months later when I'm supposed to be writing a paper.
Bottom line: I miss my puppy. I'd give my right arm for another month to spend with him. Now you know.
Posts
