When Cowboy leaves the house I'm always thrilled. I get a treat before his departrue and once I hear that garage door closing my adventure begins! I wander room to room making sure the sun is shining through the windows. About 3:30ish or so, I move to the front of the house just to make sure the sun is shining with no problem through the west side windows. Occasionally, I play with some wild cricket or a toy. Sometimes I hop on the window sill and stare at birds and squirrels. I nap under the Noah's Ark bed, on his bed, in the hallway, in the living room, and in the dinig room. When I hear the garage door opening, I scurry to the stairs and await my good, huge scratch behind the head. Then Cowboy bothers me all evening as he requires that I follow him around to check out everything he is doing.
He has separation anxiety.
Someone called someone, who called someone, who called Sailor, who called Cowboy to say Curley passed away yesterday. I never met him, but I've always heard good things about him. Cowboy says he was an acquaintance, a cheerful person, a happy-go-lucky individual, a talent, an inspiration, a partner, an aspiring nudist (he claimed), a warm soul, a friend.
In the old days, Cowboy tells me as examples it was the last day of 4-H Camp, church camp ending, his sisters leaving to go back home, heading to the airport from his dad's house, or moving out as the last straw. He says it's easier now. Saying so-long is still tough, but somehow he gets it done and keeps on going.