The wee hippopotamus followed its mother around, and lay down in the shadow she cast. When she moved, the baby would shuffle itself forward to stay in her shade. The young hippo reminded me a bit of ottoman-shaped dog, who would move just a bit at a time to ensure he stayed just so near Herself. He was her shadow; or perhaps, he felt best when he was in her shadow.
It has been nearly two years since Thorbert crossed the bridge. We have grown accustomed to his absence and our grief is no longer raw. He remains in our hearts, though, and we remember him especially when we see his echoes in other creatures.
Thank you for sparking the memory, wee hippo.
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