I didn’t understand why Mom was gone for so long.
Usually when she leaves, she comes back. Sometimes it takes a little while, but I know the rhythm of our life. This time, the rhythm was wrong. Mom was far away, much farther than usual. So far that Dad couldn’t even visit her. I didn’t know what four and a half hours meant, but I knew it meant she wasn’t coming home yet.
Dad did his best. He took care of me, talked to me, and kept our days moving. But every time he left to go to the store and came back, I was sure Mom would be with him. I watched the door closely. I listened for her sounds. When Dad came home without her, I checked anyway. I looked behind him. I walked through the RV like maybe she was already there and I had just missed her.
She never was.
I stayed close to Dad, but my eyes were always watching. Any sound outside made me hopeful. Any movement made me alert. I didn’t bark or cry much. I just waited. Quietly. Constantly.
At night, I slept lighter than usual. I listened more. I kept my ears tuned for Mom’s voice, her steps, her presence. Dogs know when someone important is missing. We feel the space they leave behind.
Then one day, Dad took me on a really long ride. I love rides, so at first I was just happy to be there. When we stopped, Dad went into a big building and left me in the truck. I sat up straight and watched out the window the whole time. I pressed myself closer, trying to see everything. I even tried to climb toward the window, like maybe I could get to her if I tried hard enough.
And then I saw her.
Mom was there. She was being rolled toward me in something on wheels, and suddenly everything made sense. I couldn’t stay still. My tail went wild. My whole body felt like it might burst. She was coming back to me.
I don’t think Dad understood how hard it was not to try to come through that window. But I knew. Mom was right there.
When she finally came home, I stayed very close. I needed to make sure she was really back and not leaving again. I followed her from room to room. I watched her sleep. I rested better once I knew she was safe.
Humans don’t always realize how much we notice or how deeply we feel their absence. We don’t understand hospitals or distance the way you do. We only know when our person is gone and when they return.
Mom is home now. Dad is here. Things feel right again.
But I still keep an eye on her. Just in case.
Love,
Vixen