The Shoe Thief

 

    My dog was a shoe thief.  Here she is at home in Maine waiting on my bed for me with one of my fuzzy slippers right by her side. Gratefully, even though she gnawed to shreds both the truck and car seatbelts over the years , anxiously chewing them like beef jerky, she never left a toothmark on a shoe. 

    For as long as Livy was alive, she wanted to be around me, beside me, next to me. Whenever we would leave the house and before we learned to shut all the bedroom doors, she would gently snatch a sandle, a boot, a slipper or a clog from my upstairs closet one after another and then move them all around the house, placing one right beside her when she settled down to wait for me to come home. I think she figured if she couldn't smell see, hear, or eyeball  me, at least she could have one of my smelly shoes nearby. Now my shoes all stay where I leave them until I slip them back onto my feet, or move them because they're in the way.  I'm pretty sure my shoes miss their beloved canine thief as much as I do. 

    I knew someday those quirky little things that drove me nuts would make me cry. And they do. She's been gone 10 days now and I still wake up in the morning with a sad and broken heart. No puppy to take out to pee. No puppy to feed dry old chunks of Iams dog food that she seemed to savor like it was sirloin.  No more water dish to check on because that girl was thirsty. And no more big brown eyes watching my every move.

    Missing my puppy this morning and wishing my shoes were scattered all around the house or lovingly resting right by her side.