Holes

The hardest part is the Elderly Three-toothed Dog-shaped hole in the household.

I cannot sit on the couch without noticing that gaping absence where he once sat next to me. I cannot make myself comfortable in bed because he is not there in his blanket nest near my feet. And when I come home, I no longer need to make the tour of the house to check which of the dog beds he is occupying. (He could no longer hear me, so I would seek him out to let him know I had arrived.)

So many holes.
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Grief is a strange beast. Each of us attempts to tame it differently.

I follow many animal-rescue and pet pages of Facebook. Inevitably, an aged, loved pet occasionally passes on. While some pages celebrate the life of the pet, others focus primarily on the terrible, nearly unbearable sorrow of the owners. Paragraph after paragraph about how their hearts have broken forever, how they are wracked with tears, how they will never be the same. And their outpouring of grief continues, day, week, month, year. Wave after wave of sorrow, on and on. Raw. And very human.

I understand those posts.Yet I cannot write that way. I hoard my grief, save it for myself, for quiet moments when I am alone. If there is no consolation to be had, then I want to be by myself, lest I burden someone else with the impossible task of trying to provide solace.
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One of the consequences of loving a pet -- a repercussion that we do not contemplate until it arrives -- is experiencing their loss. It can be a terrible, unimaginable loss. Yet as I contemplate my fine fur friend through the lens of sadness, I do not want to lose sight of the joy that I have had in loving him. For if I do, I cannot open myself up to the possibility of loving another creature again.

There is no replacing those who have gone On. Yet perhaps, in acknowledging what we have lost, we can see the echoes of what we have loved. Recall their beauty. And then, in time, perhaps try again. In time.

It is important to love again, even after loss. All creatures need love. And even more than that: all creatures need TO love. Especially people. Love of an animal -- unconditional, uncomplicated -- is so much easier than love for a human being. Sometimes we need that simplicity.
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This all being said: I shall not write much further about my sorrow. I want to write instead about this small scrap of canine goodness that graced me with his presence for four years. There aren't enough words to explain all he was. I will use just a few, and hopefully, they will be enough.

He had wonderfully odd ears, a ridiculous tongue, and endless patience. The way he talked to himself when he snuffled around the house always brought me a smile. He found a quiet happiness in all the small things: a good meal, a roll in the grass, a casual stroll. He was a wise little soul. If he could have communicated with words, he would have advised thusly: if you are ever feeling sad, he would recommend that you have a cool drink of water (for that always helped him), and that you take a nap on the couch with someone you love -- for that was one of his most favorite things of all.

Rest in peace, my buddy. Thank you for your time with us.