Of late, the home is a bit like a rudderless raft bouncing against the rocks of a slow-moving river. The rhythm of the day is just plain off without Tito to give it structure. And, let’s face it, without his strict directions on how to pace the day.
The regime mattered greatly to the family. “Morning Kisses with Tito” would start the day. This required three kisses on the forehead, followed by one forehead bump and three more kisses. (Because the two-leggeds valued their lives, they learned quickly to avoid any contact what-so-ever with Tito’s ears.) Following this homage, it was on to the kitchen. Although it was beneath Tito to beg, his humans did so delight in the spinning dance, so he usually obliged. If this was not immediately followed with food, expect mauled furniture.
As the day progressed, he was held, per his instruction, by being picked up under the belly with his butt cradled. From there, the day got vocal. Whining meant put him on the couch, barking meant take him off the couch. Bark and scratch meant an urgent need to be on the blanket. And, hopefully, there would be no commands needed for his humans to provide a warm basket of clean laundry for Tito to lie in.
Let’s be clear, Tito followed directions as well. Say the words “Give Kisses” and Tito would respond with a lick to the nose. Walk him and be rewarded with the most adorable booty shake. Temp with a treat and get a quirky, backward salsa wiggle and a panting smile. Look into his eyes too deeply though and expect a head butt to the chest.
And now he’s gone. Since Tito’s departure, little triggers still bring great sadness. It’s a palpable void that echoes in their hearts with an empty thud. They know one day “Morning Kisses with Tito” won’t be the first thing they think about. It’s OK if that day seems impossibly far away.