This morning I'm back in London and I've woken up with the worst kind of broken heart. I have puppy withdrawal. This is my first morning when I didn't have a golden ball of fluff attacking me in bed with puppy breath and oversized paws. Instead I had Mr. FFG asking if he thought he should wear Ralph Lauren or Gucci (like that's even a question) to work. Yes, first world problems, right? While I can't begrudge the good life in London, there is something so satisfying about the simple southern life and having a good ole retriever by your side, day in and day out.
Now, what I do have to talk about here is Boomer's incredible sense of "knowing." This little guy knew I was leaving. How at ten and a half weeks a dog knows when he is going to have to say goodbye is beyond me. Boomer sat in my suitcase in protest yesterday afternoon. Yes, of course, he was interested in eating the contents, but he also just sat there and gave me a look like saying, "You can't go. I simply won't let you or you'll have to pack me here to go with you."
It was a terrible moment having to remove Boomer from the suitcase. But London calls and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Sadly, Boomer is with Momma Goose now in Beaufort, South Carolina. That's his real momma and I'm the sibling now, I suppose, that visits every other month smelling of a new country and carrying some new handbag that Boomer will have fun searching through, no doubt.
Now, about that other picture on the right. This is Boomer as I'm in the car on the way to the airport looking at me as I explain that I have to go away for a little bit and that I'll be back in just 8 weeks, which will pass in a flash. He looked at me, listened to every word, but seemed so confused. Of course, I don't speak puppy. And that is perhaps the hardest thing. Little Boomer probably thinks I've left never to come back and this picture will haunt me for the next seven and half weeks.
Until then, this is Boomer's blogger signing off for the time being.