I acknowledged from the start that I would never entirely get over the loss. How can you? It’s a hole no one else can fill, and I wouldn’t try to. Her presence, and now her absence, are reminders of some of the best qualities I’ve encountered in life: loyalty, empathy, unconditional love. I know passing these on honors her memory, but I’m afraid I will never be able to do so with another dog. As much as I long for another canine companion, I can’t help comparing them all to her.
Every time I think this has healed, a sight or memory or her gaping absence rips open the wound. I miss her. I miss her I miss her. I miss the comfort she gave generously when no human in my life would. I miss her attentiveness. I miss her intelligence. I miss her protectiveness. I miss her grouchiness, her quirks, her farts! I miss her golden coat with the single black hair, her molten amber eyes, her worn footpads.
I miss too all that she represented—steadfastness in an unstable world, a tumultuous childhood and premature stumble into adulthood. She was there, through it all, like no one else. And she was there not just in body: she was the loving creature that clung to me until my sobs subsided. She, by inexplicable sensitivity or divine grace, always knew when I was aching, when I was in danger, what I needed and when.
She was my lifeline in dog form.
