dogless

It is bizarre being a dogless house. Ever since I was 9 or so, there's always been a dog in the house. The first couple of days after Straka died, the house felt extremely empty and vacant. The feeling of emptyness has faded now. Now it feels fairly normal to walk in the door and not hear the padding of her feet coming to greet us. But every now and then the feeling of emptiness reappears, like at bedtime when our routine no longer includes letting her out and then getting her a cookie before heading upstairs.

Yesterday I looked at the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard and felt an ache in my heart when I realized we hadn't opened that door since Thursday evening. So I opened it and Gavin and I went out back to play. Straka's tennis balls litter the back of the yard, left from the past few months when we'd throw them and she would chase after but lose interest quickly. She used to love playing ball, but this winter her hips started to really bother her and she stopped playing, although you could tell she really wanted to.

Gavin missed her. We weren't sure if he would, but he did. Friday night when we came back from church, we walked through the door and he looked around and around signing "dog". How very sad it was. We explained that she had gone away and wasn't here anymore. He didn't understand, but what else could we do? Just now he saw a picture of her on my screen and got very excited and started laughing and siging "dog." I wonder how long until he sees her picture and doesn't remember her?

Her death as a surprise but we werern't shocked. She was old and her health had declined rapidly over the last year. Thursday evening she was breathing funny and wasn't acting herself. We sat with her for a long time, petting her and talking to her. Eventually she roused and got up and walked around a little, albeit wobbly and limpy and very weakly, but still, she was up and around. Jason got up around 5 and went looking for her, just to check and make sure she was okay. He found her, but she was gone.

The moment of Jason coming into the bedroom and telling me she was dead is one of those I have relived many times this past week. It will likely haunt me forever. You always remember the moment you first learned of a tragic event. What you were doing, exactly how it felt, your reaction.

She declined a lot in the last year. She turned very rapidly from an old puppy to an old dog. She lost weight, got stiff and achy in her hips and other joints. She wasn't super poor, but she wasn't well either. Despite that, I don't think that's how I will remember her. I think I will always remember the puppy she always was at heart. The little red dog with a big heart. The one who barked "stop the violence!" if she saw someone being hurt. The one who loved to run. The one who would play ball for hours and hours, long past the time where our arms tired out. The one who loved to look for kitties outside, and would chase them given the chance.

Posted by allison at March 30, 2005 12:57 PM