Kohl

Where is my lost dog? I have looked everywhere in this house, but I can’t find her, and it’s impossible to call her because she is deaf.

Kohl is a black Toy Poodle, and she is sixteen years old. Her eyes are clouded with cataracts, her fur has gone grey around her muzzle, and she has a slight limp, but her sense of smell is incredible. 

I know Kohl can find her way around the house from memory as long as everything is in its place, but she is so tiny, weighing less than five pounds, and it is very important that I find her as soon as possible because someone could accidentally step on her.

I’m beginning to get worried, and keep playing out scenarios in my mind.  What if she’s sick and has crawled off somewhere to die?  What if she got outside, how will I ever find her out there?   

My stomach twists in knots, as my eyes search for her.  She has been my constant companion for sixteen years and I love her so much. I know the time is soon coming when we will have to say goodbye, but I don’t want her to die lost, alone, and afraid.

Tears are gathering in my eyes, my chest feels tight, as my eyes continue to sweep the room.  “Oh, God, please help me find her soon.” I pray.

Wait, something is out of place in this room. A fleece throw has slipped off the couch onto the floor, and as I study it, I can see a slight movement underneath it.

Hurrying over I gently lift the throw.  There she is curled up all comfy and warm. Feeling weak from relief, I bend over and pick her up, cuddling her close to me. Together we sink onto the couch, and I reach for the throw and wrap it around her so thankful I have found her.