Poco to the Rescue

I haven't be able to write since we lost Willow. I thought I needed to write about losing her and everytime I thought about writing it made me so sad. It was a vicious circle and I lost because I've really missed writing.

I missed writing about the holidays and how much I missed my parents. I missed writing about our quick trip to Florida and taking the risk to drive an unfamiliar 1986 mercedes the fifteen hundred MILES home. I missed writing about the horses.

I was having a lovely soak in the tub tonight with a glass of chilled white wine and a cheap paperback when I looked over the side of the tub and saw Poco sleeping on my pile of clothes. His face was calm and serene. His breathing deep and even. His soul was at peace.

I remember when Poco came to the farm a shell of a soul. His eyes were wary, empty and full of pain. His body emaciated, his fur matted and filled with filth, his skin infected and he shook. He shook all the time. That was two years ago.

Today, he sleeps with a fully belly, warm and loved on a pile of dirty clothes. His face is calm and his body is relaxed. He looks happy. Even without the knowledge of his trauma his face would bring me peace and love and joy. His eyes gently closed and his black nose wet with health. It bolstered me. It helped heal my sore spirit. Even in his sleep he gave me strength.

Now, I can write about Willow. I can write about loss knowing there is life that goes on: happy, healthy and full of love. It's amazing how I think I'm helping them when really they're helping me.