Django

I’m sitting at my computer right now (a little more than 48 hours to go) and there’s something missing. There’s no tick-tack-tick-tack of claws across the hardwood floor, no wet nose pushing against my ankle. I’m used to getting interrupted every half hour by a little head creeping its way onto my lap, begging me to take a break from the computer and come out on the patio to watch the birds in the garden and feel the breeze coming down from the Oakland Hills.

We brought Django down to my mom’s last night; it’s been THE DAY that for so long has been looming off in the future. I’ve been away from him for weeks before as I boarded planes and traveled in foreign countries, but in the four years we’ve had him, I’ve never come home to an empty nest.

I sat him down in the living room before we left this morning, explained how many days were in a month, gave him a hug and a big snout kiss, and tried unsuccessfully not to cry. He just looked at me quizzically, his ever-expressive ears coming into half-terrier/half-shepherd position, and then trotted off towards the patch of sunshine by the window.

Movers arrive at 8:30am tomorrow and by afternoon the flat will echo even more than it does right now.