There’s no leash hanging by the front door.
I’m not tripping over dog toys on the living room floor.
The baby can no longer play in the water dish in the kitchen.
There’s no insane barking when someone knocks on the front door. No late night ‘take the dog for a pee, will you?’ requests of my teenage son. No need for my husband to get up 20 minutes early to take her for a walk. No click click click’s of her nails on the hardwood, no thuds as she lays in front of the front door, no tail wags, no slobber..
It sucks. I miss my dog.
Her crate still stands in my oldest son’s room, at his request..her dishes, toys, etc are in it. Her garbage can full of kibble has been taken down to the basement until I can find someone to donate it to. It’s all I can make myself do for the moment.
She is gone, but her hair lingers on our furniture, small tufts underneath and in corners, that I don’t yet have the heart to remove. And the ghost of her presence is in every room.
I didn’t think I’d take it this hard..I’m tougher than this, I keep telling myself. Apparently not, looking at the mound of kleenex piling up in front of my keyboard. And to think, I used to call myself a Cat Person. No, really..at one time I owned 3. I can show you pictures.
The day we went to the pet store, though..we were supposed to get a bunny. I remember it like yesterday..I was holding a soft little champagne coloured dwarf rabbit in my arms..hemming and hawing a bit. Four year old Austan was at my elbow, my husband looking at me with that “Aw, come on, ” look of his. A jingle at the front door, and a woman entered. “The puppies are here..where do you want me to put them?” My head whipped around, and I deposited the cute fluffy bunny in Shane’s arms, all thoughts of becoming Thumper’s owner now long forgotten. “Puppies?” I asked the woman. ” Where are they?” ” Out in the truck, ” she replied. ” I’ll show you.”
The rest, as they say, is history.
Funny how there can be ten people in this house, and without just one dog, it feels empty. My house just doesn’t feel like home without my Daisy-doo in it.
We took her to the vet last night. It was time, although none of us was really ready. I questioned the wisdom of letting Austan come, but he was adamant..and when I asked the question of Evan, he was slightly contemptuous that I even asked..the look in his eyes seemed to say ” Are you crazy?! She’s my dog! You think you’re going without me?” It’s at moments like these you know, absolutely and without reservation ‘I raised him right’.
I am extremely proud of my youngest son..it was heartbreaking for me, watching him go through it. But he stayed, and he was there for her, told her what a good dog she was and that he would miss her. He got to say goodbye, which I think was important for him. He understands responsibility better than I thought. He knew it would be hard, he knew he’d be hurt, and he did it anyway, for Daisy.
Rather than a private cremation and keeping her ashes ( just a bit creepy in my opinion..mental note, tell the kids I don’t want to be Grandma On The Mantle, EVER), or burying them in the backyard, we decided to get a memorial plaque made, with her pawprint on it. It might be cliche, but the inscription will read ” Daisy- You left your pawprints on our hearts, and there they will stay forever.” Sometimes cliche is nothing but the plain truth.
Damn..maybe I should buy stock in kleenex.