One black dog, out standing in her field

            My walks are more solitary without Kate. Clara wanders freely through the fields, less fixated on my exact whereabouts when we’re outdoors, but she is picturesque out there, with her curling black tail that makes a bold apostrophe against the background.
            I’ve been overwhelmed by the compassionate feedback about Kate’s death. It was achingly painful, and I miss her, but we are okay. I am grateful that she is at peace, and that we no longer have to worry and wonder just how uncomfortable she is.
            Also, Jonathan and I are finding a new relationship with Clara, who has always been the afterthought dog, the other dog. Kate’s presence was powerful; Clara is chill, and exquisitely gentle. She deserves some time in the limelight, and we are already finding new founts of love for this quiet, doofusy dog.
 
 
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 360: 138 words, TOTAL = 58,863; 1,137 remaining