Day 9...

It has been more than a week now since Savannah disappeared. And that's how I'm beginning to think of this... she has just disappeared. It would be so easy to hide a seven-pound Maltese, but how does one hide a 70-pound Border Collie/Great Pyrenees?

I had been thinking that Savannah found a very good hiding place somewhere between our backyard and the furthest property near the main highway. I have walked and driven up and down our road here in the hopes of seeing her fluffy tail peeking out behind the shrubs, but that possibility seems pointless now. If Savannah were anywhere within our little community here, it would be very easy for her to find her way back to our porch.

With each day that passes, I tend to think that we will never see her again. I have given the open bag of dog food to friend Cindy, for her dog Jack. The open bags of treats went to Jack also... he's a big dog, larger than Savannah, and those big-dog treats will be just his size. I saved the unopened bag of Paula Deen's homemade dog kibble for Savannah, as well as the new bags of treats... the sweet potato/chicken treats are her favorites.... all natural, real sweet potatoes, real chicken.

Savannah's last Blue Monkey toy is in the laundry room, sitting on top of the windowsill by the washer/dryer, That little monkey stares at me with eyes that can't possibly see the pain I feel every time I look at him. I've lost count of how many times my husband had brought home a bag filled with those stuffed monkeys, so we always had a new one to give to Savannah when her sharp teeth tore through the blue corduroy fabric.  Keeping that little monkey in my laundry room is a silent reminder of what we have lost. And right now, I still want to be reminded. It's been a bit more than a week.... as time goes on, I may change my mind and send that Blue Monkey home with Cindy and tell her to give it to Jack.

I don't know how many more days I will continue to write here. This blog started off as a release of words, just because that's what I do, and what I've done for decades. Before the computer and the Blog, I wrote in blank notebooks, but typing is so much faster and easier. Shortly after starting this blog, my release of words turned into something more... stronger than a diary, it was turning into a book, and I figured that it was good enough to turn into a real book when it was done. I had planned then to keep a daily journal of Savannah's first year with us, and with that in mind, I've succeeded. I have failed, however, in keeping Savannah. She is lost.  L.O.S.T.  It's still so hard to believe that a dog of mine is lost. I don't lose things that are important, and I very rarely lose anything at all.

Everyone continues to tell me that it wasn't my fault... I couldn't have know that those massive fireworks were about to be set off... I couldn't have known that the neighbors were that reckless... we didn't know them that well.  The fact that I lost consciousness when I hit the road didn't even give me the opportunity to see which direction Savannah had chosen for her escape. I keep thinking of that old 'Chicken Little' story---- "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"  And that is exactly what Savannah must have thought as she was speeding away from those cannon-esque  explosions.

I didn't sleep well last night, and I didn't even try going upstairs and getting into bed. I fell asleep in the breakfast room, sitting at the little table near Savannah's bed. Sweet Pea had been in the big-dog bed for hours last night, but he followed me into the TV room when I decided to sleep on the sofa in there. As I tried to get comfortable on the love-seat, Sweet Pea curled up on my chest and put his head over my heart. He has always been a very loving cat and the sound of a beating heart seems to calm him, even though he is a very serene and seemingly enlightened cat.

About two hours sleep was all I got last night, so I didn't take my car out today. I've caught myself drifting off to sleep ever since I got up this morning, and I refuse to take chances behind the wheel of a car if I'm not truly awake and alert.  My throat is sore from continually calling out Savannah's name as my husband and I drove along the country roads this week. My bruises are still a little bit sore as the black and blue marks turn to purple and yellow. More importantly, my heart is sore, just from the absence of Savannah. She was quite a presence, that big puppy of ours, and the house seems ridiculously empty without her.                      

The firework-neighbors across the road have had workers there this week fixing the roof of their house. All day long, hammer-hammer-hammer-hammer.... a relentless reminder that they live there.  I hate them, every one of them, but most especially the one who set off the fireworks, and I don't even know whose hand lit the fuse. But it doesn't matter because I hate them all.   It isn't a good thing to hate.  Hate takes energy, and such a pointless emotion is energy wasted... and time spent hating is time you'll never get back.  But I cannot forgive them, and I don't know if I ever will, and I wish they had never moved here on our road.

Today was a gorgeous day... warm and mild, sunny and blue-sky-beautiful. It would have been a dog-park day with Savannah.