Kind, disheveled Moe felt most connected to his dog Emo. While Moe enjoyed a spry 52, Emo’s dog years had mounted too fast; 16 going on death.
Christmas Eve the vet slipped Emo into that long goodbye. Moe wanted to keep something. A paw? An ear? But that seemed too barbaric. No taxidermy for him. Yet the plaster paw print just wasn’t enough.
Moe moped. Three days passed without a shower, a phone call, or a regular meal. The kibble bag stood lonely in the corner.
But life must continue. Moe stared into the rarely used mirror astonished.
Those ears! That tongue!