Months after our black Scottie passed we would come home, open the door and look to be sure he wasn’t underfoot in the dark room. Was always just at the door. Called it a Micky moment.
The blanket part hit me hard. When my boy died, I wrapped him in a blanket, sat outside on a bench hugging him and waited for my husband to dig his grave. We had a Scottie statue which now sits on his grave in the yard. RIP Mick. I still can cry thinking of him 10 years later.
Months after our black Scottie passed we would come home, open the door and look to be sure he wasn’t underfoot in the dark room. Was always just at the door. Called it a Micky moment.