I Shaved My Head the Winter My Dog Left

It's been sixteen days since my rooommate and best friend, Rambo, walked out on me. He didn't leave a note, just a visitor in my shoe.

Damned cocker spaniels. The old gypsy man at the pet shop warned me about them.

I miss him so much. Why couldn"t I be enough for him? What's wrong with me?

I hate my clothes. They have his fur all over them. My bottom drawer is full of doggy sweaters and tiny Halloween costumes.

I'm find more hairs in the sink everyday. Wrinkles. Gray eyes. I'm dead without Rambo. I can't stand to be old. I can't die.

I chaved my eyebrows on Christmas day. Then my head, then everything else. Now I'm clean, and he'll come back to me.

As I write this, I'm waiting in the doorway, clothed only in skin, watching the snowy hills. Waiting for a choclate-colored speck to come frolicing toward me on the horizon.