The girls and I played hard yesterday. 

Chasing each other around the yard, playing fetch with the ChuckIt! ball, and playing keep-away with the Bounzer. 

And the girls ran the fence line back and forth a few times with Jupiter on one side and Baby and Toby on the other side.

Now it’s nap time again

  

 They look so sweet and innocent. Because they are. And they’re my furry “babies”. I love my girls.

Lately I find myself missing Callie so intensely at times that the tears start flowing without warning, or my throat gets a giant lump and closes up. Before I know it, I’m reaching for a tissue.

When we were outside early this morning for the girls’ first potty break of the day, a train went through the crossing up the road. As it was approaching, it was blowing its whistle (or horn or whatever) and Shadow started howling. 

Shadow always howls at train whistles and sirens. Sometimes she seems to be howling just to hear her own voice, like when Callie was still alive and they would serenade me. This morning, though, as she so often does, she seemed to be calling out to her big sister. Trying to summon Callie’s earthly form. 

 

 
Am I projecting my human thoughts and emotions on to Shadow? Possibly. But I know that she feels lonely for her sister, too. As closely bonded as they were to each other during Callie’s time on earth, there is no way I could be convinced otherwise.

At Christmas I thought I was past the heart wrenching stage of my grief. I was able to think of Callie and all the fun she, Shadow – sometimes Ducky – and I had over the years and just smile at the memories. I still can, at times. Yet…

Okay, so I’m thinking that we humans go through various stages of grief. Various stages, and varying degrees. Hubby doesn’t “get it”. Yes, he misses Callie in his own way, which is fine; but he tells me that I have to “get over it and let go.” That response only serves to piss me off, so I hold back my tears when he’s around or I get up and go into a different room. And then I let the tears flow. Or I draft a blog post like this one. And I know that most, if not all, of you will understand.

Ducky is a big “talker”; in fact, she is what my mom always called me. A chatterbox.

Especially in the morning. And it drives her Daddy up the wall. Sometimes, he’s the storm that’s brewing. I’ve given up trying to convince him that his yelling at her means nothing to her and only upsets Shadow. But when he yells in my ear, I do say something. Like “I didn’t need that in my ear!” And then I take the girls outside.

This morning I got Ducky to settle down a bit in my recliner, next to my left leg. And everything is sunny right now after two play sessions out in the back yard.