Little White Clouds

I’m here to find a sign, because I’m sure she’ll send me one. Just like when Cody died and he sent me a beautiful northern sundog to let me know everything was okay, that his energy had joined something greater.

The snow-covered lake is blinding from the sunshine, under a perfect, blue February sky. It is unseasonably warm, but my grief numbs me anyway. Neeka was my most special dog, and I’m grieving the massive void in my life, and in my heart. I’m grieving too for that part of me that was capable of forming such a bond.  

Neeks, Neeka Plum, Neekanuba, on and on. I had whispered in her ears all my silly names for her one last time. I didn’t think to say Little White Dog, I only remember now as I gaze at the treetops on the far side of the lake and see my sign. Soft little white clouds are lined up in a perfect row in the otherwise clear sky. They are subtle against the pale horizon, and could almost go unnoticed. I count them, but I already know there will be five, one for each of our remaining dogs. Her energy has joined something greater now too, and she wants me to know I can find a little part of her in each one of the others. That I can find her anywhere I look for her.

Two days before Neeka died, we saw a sundog in the sky. We hardly ever see them; they are rare down here like the northern lights. I didn’t know it at the time, but now it’s clear. Cody, ever the lead dog, was waiting for her, and assuring me that everything would be okay.