There is an empty place in my house that will never be the same. Its the spot behind the living room comfy chair where Skippy’s pillow was. It gets great morning sun and overlooks our deck and tree filled backyard. Skippy passed away two nights ago  after fighting some sort of undiagnosable chronic digestive issue that  slowly sapped his strength over the past 4 months.

I have a home office where I do most of my writing. Usually my work is punctuated with noisy interruptions from Skippy barking at a squirrel or chipmonk or bugging me to go out so he could give the UPS truck a run for his money.  He kept our yard deer free so that flowers could thrive and often liked to bark noisily  in response to all the yappy little dogs on the block. He never thought of himself as a small dog, he acted like a big guy, he was always loud and rowdy.  Whenever I had a phone call to make, I put him outside so his rambunctiousness wouldn’t distract me on the call.  It’s hard to work here, now that he is gone. Too damn quiet.

Last night as my kids and husband were preparing dinner, a piece of freshly grilled chicken fell to the floor in the kitchen. Skippy was always there to take advantage of that sort of  opportunity. This time, they just looked at the chunk of chicken on the floor and cried.  Skippy loved cauliflower and carrots scraps, now they’ll just have to go into the compost bin instead.

He drew his last breath as my husband went to call an animal hospital about having him put to sleep. Clearly, Skippy wanted to go on his own terms. The little guy passed away on his pillow, in the living room behind the comfy chair overlooking the deck and the trees.

I’m sure that the UPS truck, the mailman and all the squirrels, chipmonks and deer will take some time getting used to Skippy’s absence. He kept them on their toes.  Skippy was a good dog. He will be missed.