We returned to Seymour late, heading straight to Patrick's parents' house to see our Breaker. We missed him so, and we talked about him all week, anticipating being reunited after nearly 10 days apart from him. But when we arrived, we found that Breaky had died, tragically, while we were honeymooning. Beckie and Jerry were heroic in trying to rescue him, and we love them for their heartache as they waited to tell us.
For me, the house feels quiet and empty -- too clean and perfect. I miss his sweet playfulness and gentle nuzzle, his velvet ears, and the way he greeted us at the back door. Though I was firm he never get in our bed at first, I now miss snuggling with him in between Patrick and me until we started dozing and the weight of him jumping off our feet to curl up in his little bed. I keep looking for him to come around a corner with his stuffed green booda doll in his mouth. I also feel great pain for Patrick, who found a buddy in Breaker he'd been missing for a long time.
He lived up to his name, a heartbreaker. He's up there running like a crazy man. He was my first dog, our first dog. And this is our first trial as husband and wife. There is comfort in knowing we can console one another and that there is nothing we can't face together.
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