05/25/2026
I was going to add this to that Smoky collage, and it completely slipped my frazzled brain. This is the piece I had written for the May 2026 edition of “Furrily Lovable”, in remembrance of my puppy wub
Shaman Smoke and Honey “Smoky”
5/25/13 - 10/20/25
A Day In The Un-Life
by Tracey Andrade Berrios
He wakes up exactly where he always did.
This surprises no one. Especially not him.
Being in spirit has not improved anyone else’s timing, and the first thing he notices is that Mummy is thinking about getting up without properly acknowledging his presence. He makes his displeasure known immediately.
She cannot hear it the way she used to, but she feels it.
Sharp, insistent Smoky-energy ripples through the house. Not haunting. Corrective. He paces. He huffs. He makes sure his presence is impossible to ignore. Morning must be greeted appropriately. He did not cross realms to be disrespected.
When Mummy finally gets out of bed, he is right there. Of course he is. In life he had long since stopped going to the second-floor bedroom. He hadn’t the strength or balance for that long climb, but now….
He follows her on silent, unearthly paws, sticking closer than he had been able to. He leans into her field the way he once leaned into her leg.
Mine.
As it was in his youth, the kitchen is again his jurisdiction. He notices immediately that no one is preparing food for him, which is simply unacceptable. He throws a brief energetic tantrum…nothing dramatic, just enough to knock something over in another room, bringing all of Mummy's attention to where it should rightfully be… on him.
He would like it noted that his dislike for most foods is still of absolutely no consequence. He expects it to be properly prepared and offered. Death did not change this fact.
Midday, someone outside exists. He senses them before they can get within forty feet of the house. The property line is still his. The windows are still his. Truth be told, the entire block is his. The air itself reports to him.
He barks… not with sound, but with force. The person doesn’t hesitate but the dog they’re walking sure as heck does. The message lands. Good. Keep it moving, peasant intruders.
Mummy pauses, curious at the sudden energy shift. He presses closer.
It’s fine, Mummy. I’ve got it.
He spends the rest of the day doing what he has always done: supervising. Guarding. Correcting. Commenting… a lot. Loving his family and his home.
Sometimes Mummy feels sad. She misses his fluff, misses the conversations (arguments) that she rarely won. She misses his comforting weight on her feet, keeping her from leaving his favorite room, where he would sometimes insist that she remain for hours at a time. He wedges himself into her chest, her side, her heart space. He is not gentle about it. He has never been gentle about love. He demands she breathe. He demands she stay present.
At night, he settles where he always did…watching the house, watching her and Daddy and his nephews. Yes, even the new annoying one…watching the spaces between things. His big presence fills them easily.
He is still superior.
He is still demanding.
He still throws tantrums when things are not right.
He is still Mummy’s bestest, handsomest fluffiest boy in the whole world.
The only difference is this:
Now, he is everywhere at once.
And he is not going anywhere.
©️ Tracey Berrios
2026
