Today, my dogs got to come inside my house (don't tell my dad), which is a treat for them. My dad isn't really an animal lover, so when we got them, it was decided that they had to be outdoor dogs all year round.
Actually, they're still here, snuffly and lovely as ever. They do smell funny, though.
Anyway, I was sitting on my kitchen floor, petting Ebony (who, contrary to popular belief, is a boy) who was sitting next to Oliver, the lazy stupid one. I began to recall that when we first got them, they were about three months old. Back then, Ebony was small enough to curl up in my lap without falling out. Now, about five years later, these black labs have grown quite a bit and Ebony isn't the puppy he used to be. I was thinking about all this as I was petting him, and about all this nostalgia. I miss the small dog I used to have and carry around like it was no big deal. I still love them, but there's something about having a puppy in your lap that can't be replicated. In the end, I guess, there's nothing but nostalgia left. We only have memories with us when we go.
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