Sad Memories/Reminders of Holly

Holly 1997-2003

The emptiness in the car.
Hayden asking "Where's your dog?"
Robert asking "Who's going to guard the elephants now?".
Her collar and tags. Her leash. Her toys.
Seeing Gus, Tracy's cat, whom she chased.
Seeing dog food in the store.
Seeing rawhide bones in the store.
Totter (Ann's dog), bouncing into the bedroom when I woke up,
	looking for Holly...even under the bed.
Anyone vacuuming or sweeping.  To Holly, these were evil.
Seeing the lawn where she went "potty".
Seeing places where she sat looking at me, ears perked up and
	head tilted sideways.
Remembering her trailing me through cemeteries.
Any mention of "breakneck", like "breakneck speed".
When I think of Robert.
A woman stopping by looking for her basset hound.
The vision of those brown eyes looking at me as her life
	left her.
The vision of Kimberly giving CPR as we raced to the vet, both
	knowing it was too late.
The vision of the vet checking that lifeless little body and
	looking up and shaking her head.
Someone dropping a bit of food and my thinking of "Holly the
Nose marks on the car window.
Looking at the empty spot where her bowls sat.
Hearing a knock and not hearing her go wild at the "intrusion".
The doorbell rings; there is no barking.
Coming in and not having her jump and bark with happiness to
	see you.
Dog hairs in the car.
Picking up keys to go to the grocery store and no one wagging her 
	tail and looking with that look of "why can't I go too?".
Coming home from the grocery store and no one excited to see me.
Eating a piece of leftover fried chicken for a snack in the 
	family room and no one begging for a scrap.
Hearing an Alan Jackson song and remembering her "soft green eyes and
	delicate body".  OK, so Holly's eyes were brown.
Clover hanging out downstairs with out worrying about a dog "attack".
Going to bed without having to take Holly out.
Getting up without having to take Holly out.
Realizing how much of my daily routine was centered around Holly.
Seeing the mailbox post she always sniffed.
Opening the door to go out and realizing she's not there to go too.
Getting my car keys and remembering she would hear and come.
Watching snow fall and remembering she didn't like that.