It is the eve of Mowgli's anniversary and it is pouring rain. Tomorrow, on May 15th, it will be one year since his demise. When I open the door, I still think about how he would come to the door, wagging his tail. Whenever I run out of counter space and have to put a plate on the floor, I think about how he would run over and sniff it. I couldn't actually do it because he would eat whatever was on it and I didn't want to hurt his stomach. Our home has been too quiet. I miss hearing him breathe, snore, pant, and in his later years here in Brussels, was happy to hear less and less scratching compared to Toronto. When someone came into the main entrance, Mowgli would do a kind of gruff...a deep, in his throat sound to let us know that someone was here. Sometimes, it would turn into a bark. But not often as he got more and more tired.

I miss him and honestly, think of him often. It surprises even me as I was never too keen on getting a dog but once I married Daddy, fell in love with this fur ball too. It's just not the same around here and a new dog wouldn't replace Mowgli in a million, gazillion years. Tomorrow night we will have a tribute dinner with friends. How lucky we all were to know a dog like Mowgli...a one-of-a-kind, that is for sure.