Sunta

In about a week I'm going to travel home to say goodbye to my aged Golden Retriever, Sandy. Since I learned about his lymphoma I keep imagining him and I just sitting in a green field on the island where I'm from, just thinking and sitting with one another. Maybe his head is resting on my knee and he's softly snoring. I pet him one last time and he looks up at me and smiles that indescribable smile that only dogs can manage; the one that conveys absolute love, loyalty and friendship. Then a breeze comes along and he disappears into the blowing grass.

I think that I am projecting my one mortality onto my beloved friend and seeing how I would like to spend my own last moments. Either way, saying good bye to him in a green field of softly swaying grasses in the sun seems just right.