Last month: Cody wearing one of Ethan's t-shirts, because I was told his being wrapped tightly might help his thunderstorm anxiety, like a baby being swaddled. Meanwhile, Bonnie licks the bedspread.
Tonight we took Bonnie and Cody to our friends Kim and Susan's home, where the dogs will be living while we're away in Florida. Kim and Susan have three wonderful kids and a good amount of property, and the dogs were incredibly excited to be there (they've stayed with this family before). I didn't realize how much I'd miss them until we were leaving and I glanced back, and there was Cody's little face with his innocent, neurotic, shining eyes watching me go.
Bonnie, closely monitoring Cody's anxiety levels.
We were literally steps outside Kim and Susan's door when the waterworks started, and it was only seconds later, when Noah said, "It's okay, let it all out," that the floodgates opened and full-fledged sobbing took over.
Cody, unsettled by a clap of thunder.
They were my constant, reliable companions when Noah was gone. They were always home with me, they were awake when I was (or sleeping near me) and asleep when I was (or sleeping on me).
Bonnie, never unsettled, for she is perpetually enthusiastic.
Without Cody, I'll have to make do with Noah's far-less-furry-but-astonishingly-Hobbitlike feet to tuck mine under for warmth at night. Without Bonnie, I'll only have a lifeless, furless pillow to spoon in the early morning once Noah's left for work.
Totally over it re: Cody's personality disorders.
This is an adventure they can't take with me, and I had no idea how much I'd wish they could.