Miscalculated

This morning, the leftover hamburger (I'd sautéed it with onions the other day) looked forlornly at me from its container in the ’fridge. I said to the lovely Carol, "If I scrambled some eggs with this, would you have some?"

She would, so I pulled out a skillet, tossed the burger in with some olive oil, and set the burner on medium heat. I beat three eggs and stirred the burger around a bit more. When it looked ready, I added the eggs and in a minute or two we had a breakfast scramble.

I put two plates on the stove and shoveled the egg/burger mix onto them. There was a bit too much -- two eggs probably would have been enough, I thought.

Then it hit me: our dog was no longer here to share this with us.

I know we should think about the good times we had with him, rather than focus only on the grief of missing him. But sometimes we just do.

15 hours later

The lovely Carol just heard a high-pitched whistling noise outside. "It reminds me of Duke's whine," she said.

I wonder how long it will be 'til it won't hurt when we remember him?