flicka. By Emberlynn Pendergraft
Euthasol is pink. Pink like the sweaters I put you in or the blanket you slept with or the collar you wore when I brought you home. I’m forgetting the way you sound and feel and look, but I can’t forget that euthasol is pink. On good days, I remember a lot. The way I would wake up to you tucked up against my back or how you barked at anything that moved or the way you loved me with a ferocity I fear I will never know again. On bad days, I only remember that euthasol is pink. I want everyone to know you. I want them to know how sweet and soft and kind and gentle you were. I want them to know you kept me alive. I want them to remember you more than I want them to remember that euthasol is pink.
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