Does the feeling ever really go away?

I don’t really know what to say other than I miss him. 

I know he was just a dog. 

I know.

Honestly, there is not a day that goes by in this house that I don’t see his picture.

Or hear his name spoken. 

Sometimes a memory of him crosses my mind.  I smile.  I can get lost within a daydream, remembering him.

And sometimes while I daydream, memories become deformed.   

And all those memories of that day flood my mind.

Knowing now that he was trying to find a quiet place to leave this world.  Watching his chest rise and fall for the last time, watching him fade…then walking away. 

And putting his things away, as though he had never been here. 

I am left crumpled, an ache in my stomach.  Wondering if that will ever really go away.  All the way away.   

Time does soften the jagged edges.  And yes, the good memories–the ones that have us in stitches–far outnumber the bad ones.

But every now and then, I remember what that felt like. 

Every June 10, I remember.

Reminders

They are always there, and they creep up when you least expect it. 

Twelve years ago, we got a puppy.  A chocolate lab puppy.  A big, hairy, floppy eared, clumsy, slobbering fool of a puppy.  He was awesome.  We named him Coco.  I fell head over heels for that silly old dog. 

One day while I was at work, Coco took it upon himself to rearrange all of my cookbooks, and give them a fresh new look.  He tore most of the covers to shreds, and scattered them about the living room.  I came home to a carpet littered with quarter-sized shreds of cardboard.  And a dog that was mysteriously absent from the cookbook carnage. 

Mm-hmm.

Well, I LOVED my cookbooks and we couldn’t afford to replace them at the time, so I kept them.  The recipes weren’t damaged, just the covers.  There are recipes in the books that I go to every holiday, or special occasion, but other than that, I don’t open them much throughout the year anymore. 

It’s always kind of a surprise when I do pull them out, and they cause me to stop and remember that dog.  And that always makes me smile, but it also leaves me with a little bit of sadness.  He wasn’t here with us nearly long enough. 

Part of me really wants another dog.  And part of me is afraid that no dog is ever going to measure up to that Coco.        

 

Cookbooks, slobber, dog hair and all.

Miss You Coco

Three years ago today, we lost our Chocolate Lab, Coco, after a brief illness.  I still miss him deeply, every single day.  After this long, I thought I would have been mended, but I still can’t look at his scrapbook without melting into a puddle of tears, without that ache in my heart that only surfaces when I think too much or too long about him.  I have his picture on my fridge as if he is still around, under my feet or snoozing on the couch.  There are other constant reminders of him…the hardwood floors that bear scratches from his nails, his collar that I keep in my top drawer, even my cookbooks that he shredded one day when he was a puppy.   

The Man and I have for years had a (nearly) nightly ritual of eating ice cream before bed.  Back when Coco was still around, we would clink our spoons on the bowl when we were finished eating, as a signal to Coco that it was his turn to lick the bowl.  Even now, I find myself clinking, and then realizing.  Perhaps that is the hardest part–the forgetting and then the remembering. 

I miss you something awful Coco.  I’m afraid I always will.

Dogless

I lost my Coco three years ago this coming June 10th.  It was, in all honesty, the most difficult thing I have had to deal with.  I think of him every day, miss him every day.  My heart still feels the weight of his absense.  In my desperation to fill the hole he left, we got Sonny.  Sonny was difficult.  Sonny was dominant.  Sonny was kinda funny…in a dominant, difficult sort of way.  Two years later, Sonny did what we considered to be a red flag, and bit my daughter, and that was it.  We decided to give Sonny back to his breeder(where, incidentally, he is happy as a clam).  It was a tough pill for me to swallow.  I had failed.  I gave up.  I couldn’t handle him.  But, then, he did bite her.

The house feels different even now, 10 months after Sonny left.  And I still miss Coco’s big tail thumping on the wall when we get home.  I miss his big, furry body always under my feet.  I miss his tricks (and they were good tricks, too).  I miss the humor, the playfulness, the warmth that came out of Coco.  I just miss that dog. 

Strangely, I miss Sonny, too.  Not in the same, painful, heartbroken kind of way, but in a way that I can’t explain.  Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment; maybe it is jealousy.  Maybe it is my Type A personality, finally admitting failure.  I know Sonny is happier now, WAY happier.  There must be some success in that.       

But still, something is missing in this home of mine, and it has four legs and a lot of fur.