Mickey, Roger, Mickala, Whitey Jackson, Vequero (and any other nickname we came up with)

I'm feeling a little melancholy today. Last night I had a dream about my little dog, Mickey. Lots of people know him, he was this little 10 pound terror mutt, that I absolutely adored. He slept in my bed and followed me EVERYWHERE. He would even scratch at the bathroom door. Don't get me wrong, he drove me insane too. His insistence on marking his territory everywhere we went led him to leap from my arms and run down a freeway exit, ONTO I-80 and nearly getting squashed by a semi before finding a rock near the side of the road to pee on. The semi actually ran over his leash! Dang Dog.



Anyway, in my dream, a coworker of mine was asking if they should get a dog, and I told her that I still hadn't gotten over having to put my dog down because of kidney failure and that Nathan will only ever have a fish. Circle of Life, blah blah. Fish it is.



The dream made me so sad, it woke me up. As I laid in bed, thinking over the dream, I realized that it was 3 years ago on Wednesday that Mickey died. I have to say, tears are prickling my eyes while I type this. Pregnancy hormones, you ask? Maybe, but I still miss my dog.