The headache starts to claw again, but my mind clings to the next memory, desperate to stay in that world where she still exists. Summer break from college. Eight long months away from home. I had transformed - new haircut, new look, a different me.
And she didn't recognize me.
That moment still stings. She stood at the door, ears pricked, eyes unsure, nostrils flaring with caution. I called her name - my voice faltering. She didn't move. Her skepticism pierced me harder than any reprimand could. But then… recognition dawned.
It was electric.
She exploded - sprinting in circles, howling, pawing, jumping. My homecoming was her celebration. She peed on the floor in excitement (which I like to think was her version of a welcome mat) and kissed every inch of my face as if to make up for lost time.
She was talking - I could feel it. "Where have you been? Why did you leave me? I missed you more than you'll ever know." And maybe also, "Why in the world do you look like a peacock now?"
Her judgment was silent. My mother's wasn't. Let's just say, she processed my 'new look' for several weeks, and her remarks are still stored in a vault labeled Parenting Wounds. But Rani? Rani didn't care about colored hair or fashion flops. She saw me.
And we picked up right where we left off - walks, rides, treats. She had grown into a majestic, mature soul with wisdom in her eyes and the same goofy energy tucked just beneath. She was no longer the bumbling pup who tripped on her own paws - she was my companion in stillness, my mirror in chaos.
But dogs… they know. They always do. As my departure date loomed, Rani started to distance herself. She didn't sulk or whine. She just quietly prepared for absence. She would lie a little farther away, her eyes following but her body grounded - perhaps a strategy to spare us both the pain of parting. Perhaps her way of telling me, "Go on. I'll be here when you return."
She always was.
But now, she's not.
And I'd give anything - anything - to feel her nudge my leg again, to hear her claws on the floor, to see her waiting at the door, tail wagging in furious delight. But all I have are these memories... and they hurt almost as much as they heal.