She is still here.

We played hooky yesterday morning and went for a hike, just the three of us.

She is still here.

I am still here.

WE ARE STILL HERE.

It’s been four months - to the day - since Waffle’s spleen ruptured and she almost died. Writing that sentence still brings me to tears. I don’t think there will ever be a time it doesn’t.

I don’t have words for the honor that is being her momma. I really don’t. 

I also don’t have words for the honor that is being Tug’s momma.

I’ve started to feel like my heart is living beyond my chest as I watch them. Every step, every swagger, ever wiggle - is that normal? Are they okay? Do they know I love them more than I will ever be able to express in kisses and hugs?

Yesterday morning, I rose with the sun and chose to play hooky.

I decided to take my best girls on a hike. I packed the essentials — allll the cookies and allll the water and a breakfast sandwich with extra sausage, of course. Waffle watched me closely as I organized my pack, examining every move I made. I laced my shoes, one by one and then — then I asked her if she wanted to go for a hike?!

Of course, she did. She full body wiggle waggled and beamed brighter than the cloudless day outside. And, after a quick pee on the lawn, off we went.

Waffle smiled the whole drive. She kept checking on me — making sure I was sure she was coming.

She understood how special it was.

She got that this was the first hike we had gone on since her emergency. She understood how much of a gift it was to have a morning this beautiful that was ours for the taking.

Once on the trail, Waffle set the pace but that didn’t slow Tug down as she ran frolicking circles around us. There were sniffari stops aplenty and all the juice breaks one could dream of. We ambled our way upward and I tried to stay in the moment, in the power of being there, in the joy of being on a mountain with my two best girls.

As we started to break tree line, my anxiety took hold. What if the last stretch is too steep for Waffle? What if I’m doing this for me and not for her? What if this is not the right way to love her and give her a best day anymore? The doubt demons swirled about me and without even missing a beat, Waffle ambled her way back down the steep rock towards me, reassuring me with a sassy sashay of her hips and a booty bump into my muddy legs.

I bent down and clung to her for a moment. I just wanted to hold on to her for always — to love her for always — to care for her half as well as she cared for me.

A gust of wind moving along the ridge snapped a branch beyond us and the spell of sunshine, mountain air and snuggles was momentarily broken. I called Tug - who was lying in a mud puddle a few yards ahead to return to the pack. She bounded to us with her relentless enthusiasm and I coaxed them both to sit with me on the bare rock between moss and dwarf pine and share the breakfast sandwich I had packed.

After each of us devoured our portion and the extra bit of sausage too, I turned back down the mountain, back the way we’d come. Tug followed immediately leaping to and fro before darting into the shrubbery.

But Waffle waited a moment. She smiled. Her fur danced in the breeze and she held my gaze. In seeming confusion, she cocked her head just a twinge, in bewilderment by us turning back before the summit.

But I had already decided. Downward we would go. Because it was never about the top or the view, it was about going hiking — together.

And that is exactly what we had done.

We went hiking.

Yes, the three of us — went hiking on our favorite mountain and this time, I savored every single step and every single moment like I always should have.

Yes, this time Tug and I smooched her on every corner and in every mud puddle because she is still here.

Yes, she is still here and we are still here with her too.