My Little Brandy

"I have a dog. Because I don't drink, I named him Brandy."

Well, two weeks ago, my dog died. It's not something I can talk about without crying, so I'm not going to talk about it at all. Pixie Dust is a happy blog, and it will always be full of summer sunshine. With my little Brandy, went my ability to sleep, eat, and generally function like a normal human being. There's a big empty space inside me, and if it weren't for four very special friends of mine, these last few weeks would have been impossible to get through. I realize I haven't updated my blog in weeks. I have also lost the ability to write. A year ago, I wrote a poem for blogchaat, which I later used on Pixie Dust. I'm posting it again, because it's everything I feel right now.
I know hard it is trying to think of the right thing to say, when things like this happen. So don't. You don't have to say anything. I understand.
Huggs and Sunshine,
The Princess

Winters Tale

Cold as ever was the night as somewhere deep a gusting gale
Swirled about his weary form and whispered soft “He’s sure to fail.”
Little dog, he heard them not for he knew what he had to do
Master lay upon the snow, with struggling breath was turning blue.

Little dog, he knew a man with hounds and sleigh and whip and meat,
Pats for head and milk to drink and tiny scraps for him to eat.
Road was long and wind was fierce but little dog did brave the snow,
Master lay upon the ground and little dog had far to go.

Long ago a morning chill there lay a pup on freezing ice,
Came a man with blanket warm, a mug of milk with steaming spice.
Master saved his life that day, he took him in with love and care,
Little dog, would save him now, for master he’d go anywhere.

Shivering he made his way across the frozen lands so chill,
Icy flakes were falling fast, the wind was dancing faster still.
Howled the wind in mocking song “Oh little dog go back to sleep
Death will find your master soon, oh little dog go back and weep”.

Trudging on with faltering step, the little dog limped through the night,
Trembling in the frosty air he spied a fire burning bright.
Numb with pain and chilled to bone he found his way to Goodman’s hut
Whimpering they found his form and gave him milk but he had naught.

From his fevered barks they knew that master was in troubled state,
Following his tracks by sleigh they found his body none too late.
Master’s life was saved that night, the little dog had cleared his debt
Laid his head by master’s feet but rose again did never yet.