Caution, Small animal crossing

When you allow a small animal into your life, it’s easy to miss the mundane burrows they create. And then, one day, they are gone and the holes are profound and surprising. Open the garage door and there is a small step to the left just in case the dog is making a run for it. Take a walk to the mailbox as it’s multi-tasking, the dog needs walking anyway. At the store, use the plastic bags to use as dog poop bags. Watch the chair when you put the recliner down, don’t squash her. Something drops on the floor, it will be caught by the household vacuum with four legs.

   But tonight, her bed sits empty. And I wonder why it is still here; doesn’t anyone else find it painful to look at? I feel horrible, I need my dog to comfort me and she is gone. No ears perk up when a chip bag rattles. No one needs to be reminded to fill the bowl or let her out. There is a huge hole, surrounded by tiny burrows, places she gradually inserted herself into my life and now there is nothing. It’s the images I was most afraid of, going in. And for good reason. Instead of continuing to feel such gratitude as I did when she was gone, I feel haunted. 

At the time, I communicated my gratitude to the Dr. It was peaceful, it was dignified. But those feelings slipped way with the hours. Now, flashes of her vacant black eyes replace the moment before it, when we were nose to nose and I was telling her, showing her, willing her my gratitude for the part she played in the last 5 years of my life. And instead of the lovely memory of her relaxed and slow breathing, finally less labored,  I am filled with the memory of the smell of her bacon treats that she threw up on my lap as the anesthesia moved through her.

     It was so fast, I had to ask, “Is she gone? Is she gone?” while my outstretched hand searched for her hitching side. As if there were something left unsaid, as if I hadn’t quite said all I needed to. But of course I did, I told her with her last breath that she was a good girl, and that I loved her, that she was the best dog and I would see her soon. And that she was a good dog… And thank you.

    And now I am left with the grief and the images and it’s my job to be left with those because she was my dog. My sweet, lovely, faithful companion who loved me in a way only a dog can. Tomorrow maybe I’ll see the joy and the beauty of a life well spent but today not even wine and carbs can make this okay. Beware letting small animals into your life. It isn’t for the feint of heart.