Four weeks have passed since my friend Otello died. The appartement is still empty and pretty much nothing feels right. My life the last eight years has always been about what we could do together, and not having him around is very painful.
Today it’s snowing and it’s cold outside. The weather reminds me of one of Otello’s stranger behaviors. He loved the winter and snow. I think it was because of his thick and warm fur, and how he could run around without getting a heat stroke. Since he was three years old he had the strangest ability to know when the first icicles would appear, hanging from the roof of the old buildings across the street. Every autumn since then he would wake up the first day below zero degrees, anxious to get outside, waiting for me to open the door. Once outside he would run straight across the street and sit down outside one of the buildings, just staring up in the air waiting for me to hand him one of the icicles whitch he then ate like candycanes. He loved them, and he never missed the first day.
It’s now just seven more days before picking up my new dog. I’m looking forward to find something positive to focus on again and a new friend to bring with me on my trips in the mountains.