Going away

She woke me up with a kiss as she always did. A lick really, not so much a kiss. An expression of love, and companionship. Perhaps, even duty. Yet, to me, not quite so used to such displays of emotion, it seemed sudden.

Involuntarily, my hand flew to my mouth, eyes screwed up, a finger caressing the wetness left on my lips, wiping it away. I turned to my side, opened my eyes and blinked at her. I reached out, but she got up and went away without a word.

When I emerged from the bathroom, tingling with fresh breath energy, she was there on the unmade bed. On my side, snuggled against my pillow, enjoying the warmth left by my body. “Ah ha, so that’s what you were after, evicting me like that from my bed so early in the morning?”

She stopped scratching her ribs to look at me, wondering what made me say that. After all, was love and companionship not about sharing too? What had got into me? Affronted, hurt, she got up from the bed and walked away. “Come back,” I called after her. But she was gone.

Later, when I came down the stairs, dressed and ready to go, I found her sitting next to my packed bags, waiting, not understanding. She knew something was wrong. Knew I was going away from seeing me pack my bags earlier. Couldn’t understand why.

I walked up to her, took her head in the palms of my hands, kissed her forehead. Petted her reassuringly. Called her name lovingly, told her I was going away. That she would be okay without me. That life would move on. She looked at me blankly, reading my lips, uncomprehending.

She didn’t wag her tail, didn’t cry, didn’t get up and move away when I picked up my bags and walked to the door. She just sat there, rooted to the spot, watching me walk out into the sun, not understanding what had gone wrong.