Rory loved animals. I’ve shared that.
She pretended to be a dog all the time.
She’d go down on her hands and knees or sometimes just bend her elbows.
She would bark.
She would pant.
Sometimes she’d try to lick an arm or face. That was less enjoyable.
As she was getting older, I began noticing she’d turn into a dog when her anxiety increased.
Aside from play times with her friends, she’d turn pretend to be a dog when she didn’t know what to do with herself.
When she didn’t know how to act or what to say.
Her pretend time as a dog was starting to wane by the time she passed away.
But I’m grateful it wasn’t completely gone because I can still hear echos of her barks in my head.
I miss that.
I miss her.