To think I'll never again jingle the keys & have him eagerly scamper to the car for a ride; I'll never leisurely sit in the coffee house or wander through Target for the weekly shopping, while he naps contentedly in the sundrenched backseat. I'll never pull away again under his baleful glare after I've told him "not this time, it's too hot, it's too far," etc. and he's left sitting miffed on the path. Once I put away the scattered plush toys he fetched for us, for reasons only he knew, they'll not come thumping down the stairs again, gripped in his mouth, serenaded by his caterwauling yowl, echoing through the landing. The big red Clifford (almost the size of Dai) under the table where he placed it; the little clip-on koala at the base of a lamp, the green Irish mascot hand puppet with a shock of neon orange hair, even Sara's fleecy winter boot with dangling pom-poms - they will finally rest in her room, never to be collected and dispersed around the house by our Dai Whiskers.
