On Wednesday, Beloved Husband (BH) and I took our dog to the vet, we consulted, and then held him while he drew his last breath.
RIP – 1999-2010
If there is a good place, he is surely in it.
We are a different sort of family now. Smaller, and bereft, but managing. It is just the myriad of tiny reminders that take me aback. I had made my peace with the whole idea of losing him, and thought I’d prepared for the obvious, but the little things are problematic:
I brace myself getting out of the car when I arrive home because I know he is not there to greet me, but then I get floored by the question: “what am I supposed to do with half a bag of dog food?”
When I think I hear a knock at the door, I look around to see what his ears are doing, and remember again.
The kitchen floor needs sweeping more, I expected that – without a dog to pick up after me, a preschooler and a toddler- but I was at a loss for a moment over what do to do with the remnants of the kids’ yogurt.
I find myself listening in the night, still, to check how he’s breathing, and can hear only the sounds of the house and us humans.
When I told the girls that the dog wouldn’t be here when they got home Wednesday, A said: “I don’t want Louis Dog to die”. J said: “I want a cat.” Everyone has their own way. The girls don’t really seem to mind, they are so young.
Things are just different. Right now, I feel adrift, missing my former status. I am no longer a dog owner. It’ll take time to get to know this new me.