The herd is gathering. The first memorials are being written.
🐾
However they came to us — as tumbling puppies, as old souls who found us late, as the one who was only ever supposed to stay the weekend — they all left the same way: loved.
This is our herd. Not scattered, not alone, but gathered together on the far side of the rainbow — ears up in the tall grass, the way they always were when they heard us coming home. Until we meet them there, this is where we keep them.
The herd is gathering. The first memorials are being written.
🐾