When we went to our rented cottage in August I had to pack for my ten year old son as we were going to pick him up from his wilderness camp and carry straight on to the cottage.
One of the things I threw in his bag was 'Puppy'. Puppy is a much washed and almost worn out stuffed dog that my darling son slept with when he was little. He was the one thing that my son grabbed every night when he went to sleep as a toddler and every once in a while he still uses Puppy as a pillow.
Since my ten year old boy was going to be away from home for over a month, I thought I'd throw the stuffed dog into his bag to remind him of home.
We had a great time at the cottage and returned home the September long weekend. Puppy however didn't make it home. Puppy is missing.
Was my son upset? Not particularly.
Me? I'm sad.
I'm certainly not crying and moaning but I'm feeling the loss.
It's a 'please don't grow up too fast and not care' feeling. Maybe a bit of 'your babyhood has slipped away much too quickly' that's haunting me. Really I guess it's the 'oh, please pretend to let it bother you so I can comfort you like I did when you were little' hurt that I'm feeling.
I called the lady who rented us the cottage and she's going to go up this weekend and look for Puppy.
I guess I can't really go back to the area, and hand out lost dog flyer's can I?
No, I didn't think so.