I don't want to
I don't want to know what life will be like without him.
I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night without him at the end of the bed.
I don't want to make only one scrambled egg in the morning.
I don't want to get in my car for work without him in his basket.
I don't want to come home to a house without ten thousand little dog toys everywhere.
I don't want to eat dinner without him staring at my plate.
I don't want to go to the beach without him and all his paraphernalia that I always complain about packing.
I don't want to have the coal stove running without him laying in front of it.
I don't want to have Christmas without him unwrapping presents and eating tissue paper.
I don't want to go on road trips without him in the backseat whining to sit in my lap.