By Jackie Dittrich-Blahnik

St. Charles, Minn.

(Winona County)

I go to bed the moment it gets dark in the evenings, but I still don't like to get up until the later morning hours. What they don't know is I sleep all day when they are gone. I know it is not tiredness or sleepiness, but it is great sadness bordering on depression.

I remember many years ago when my boy Billy was just a youngster. He'd practice playing catch in the yard with his dad, and I'd watch. For hours he'd practice shooting hoops in the driveway. I'd watch and listen to the rhythm of his dribbling. When he ran, making a quick move to the basket, the dribble rhythm would be faster. When his pace slowed, so did the rhythm of the dribble.

I can remember the years of Cub Scout meetings in our home. His Scout buddies were fun to have in the house. They were loud, laughed a lot and ate even more. Sometimes Billy would have sleepovers. I always enjoyed his friends.

Later when he was a teenager, I wasn't able to settle in for a good night's rest until I knew he was home safe and sound in his bed. I learned to recognize the hum of his car motor. I anticipated his arrival into the house. He always spoke to me with kindness and tenderness.

In recent summers, Billy had a pitching mound in the backyard. I loved sitting out there on the deck watching him fine-tune his mechanics. Sometimes he would throw that little white ball so fast it would sizzle through the air. When the sizzling fireball hit the target it would make a bang. I loved it.

But, now things are different. Very different.

I knew something was happening. Things began to pile up on the cedar chest, and then around the living room. It looked like new stuff, especially for Billy. Then the day happened. The dreaded suitcase came out. Whenever I see that thing, I know something serious is going to happen - and I was right.

They loaded up the SUV and I watched as they drove away. Billy was in the back by all that stuff that was on the cedar chest. The last thing I saw was that dreadful blue suitcase as they drove out of sight. I wondered what was going on the entire day.

They were gone a long time. When they returned, there was no Billy. I wondered what happened to him. Did they lose him? They keep talking to me in English, but I don't understand. They even put the phone up to my ear. I heard something that reminded me of Billy. Who does that kind of stuff? They know I don't talk on the phone.

It's been a month and I have not seen my boy. I am heartbroken and lonesome for him. I no longer get excited with hopefulness when the door opens, thinking it just might be him returning home to me. He just doesn't come through that door. Where is he? Why doesn't he come home to love me? Why are they not so sad and crying their eyes out for him? I am so worried. He doesn't come home to sleep in his bed anymore. Why don't they care?

So here I am. Three years ago I lost my kennel mate, and now I lost my boy. I remember when my kennel mate Bonnie became terminally ill. She told me in dog language that it was my turn to watch over our boy Billy. I thought I was doing a good job - until now. I don't know where he went. I'll bet my cup of dog food Bonnie is very mad at me. She entrusted our boy to me and I blew it.

We as parents send our children off to college. We experience a gamut of emotions, and the phrase "empty nest" was coined. Do our young adults' pets experience the same kind of loss and emotional turmoil? In our case, I believe our beagle, Clyde, is experiencing empty kennel syndrome. This story was meant to give his pain a voice as I, Billy's mom, struggle through this time of transition.