I don't like Mondays

I went to work for a few hours this morning. I didn't think about Toto and it was a relief not to. Back home now and I feel like my heart has been ripped out through my mouth, stomped on and shredded and put back in, expecting it to beat as it once did.

I rang the local council, the pound, the dog kennels, searched the lost dogs website, placed a sign in a shop window (knowing full well she wouldn't be found in town as we live so far out) and still nothing. Yesterday, I drove all over the neighbours 80 acres, down to the creek area where Toto loved to chase rabbits and kangaroos.

We drove on our property too, walked down the hill to our creek but still no sign of her. She could be anywhere. She could be just over the fenceline for all we know. And we may never know. I wonder, if in years to come, if we are out walking one day and find her collar, will I feel the pangs of sorrow that I feel so deeply right now?

It is so quiet here. I look for her when I walk past her kennel. We have full tin of dog biscuits that I don't know what to do with. We might leave them out each night for the strange little Potoroo who visits every night eating the guinea fowl seed we leave out.

If we could find Toto, we could bury her next to Girlie and plant a tree on her, as we did before. But I don't think that will happen. She hasn't been well, so I wonder did she take the chance to wander off to her final resting place? I need to believe that, because thinking about the alternatives is just too hard to bear.