I have spent the past few days missing my dog. She was old, blind and leading a very unhappy life when we made the decision to end her misery. Her passing was peaceful. That doesn't begin to comfort me for the gigantic void left in my life.
She no longer greets us when we come home. She doesn't lie patiently on the floor waiting for us to feed her something from the table. She's gone. It's painful. I'm sad. I still can't put her stuff away. I haven't cleaned the leather sofa where she used to lay down with her muddy paws. Her leash is still by the front door; her toys are still strewn about.
I won't have anyone to play fetch with anymore. She won't steal my shoes and hide them on me. I think I've spent hours looking for at least one of my shoes in the past five years. Now, they're just always where I took them off. She won't be digging the holes for me when I plant the annuals. She won't bark at the mailman or chase rabbits in the yard.
She gave me a great deal of love and affection, loyalty and trust. Now, she's just gone and I feel empty inside. She was my first and only dog. I think I'd get another one, but my life is too up in the air right now because I want to flee Wisconsin at the first available moment. It would be terribly inconvenient for me to take on the responsibility that comes with a puppy, not knowing where I'll end up, or when I'll get there.
I admire people who have had many dogs and who have been through this. It is not easy. The joy she brought us is about equivalent to the pain of her absence. I just miss my dog. No politics. No satire. No sarcasm. I just miss my dog so much.