A year ago today, we let her go. She wouldn’t give up on us; we had to make the decision for her.
There’s not a day goes by that we don’t miss her or talk about her. We cry. We talk to her ashes.
It’s funny how quiet the house is without her clickety-clacking along. These are the little things I miss the most:
- The look of the back of her head as she’d trot along the year. Her ears would flap in this adorable, cartoonish way.
- Her judgy-sigh, because humans need shade from a four-legged companion to keep them humble.
- How, when I’d be in the bath tub, she’d try to lick the bubbles. And then sneeze.
- How she’d shake herself awake. She’d sit up, do some yoga and then full-body-wiggle herself started. Arriving with bells, our girl.
- The way she’d come running whenever we used the ice-dispenser on the fridge, or opened the fridge door.
- Her squinty/smiley flirting face that she’d put on when meeting new people, complete with stump wiggling.
- Her dinosaur voice.
- How much she hated having her paws get wet. (OMG, getting her through last winter’s blizzard would have been traumatic for everyone.)
- How she was always down for a nap, the best spooner with the coldest, stinkiest feet.
- The way she’d patiently allow me to dress her up. See also, the tutu.
I can’t believe it’s been a year. I can’t believe it’s only been a year.
Zozo enjoys not having to be the example anymore. He’s one part puppy and one part grumpy ol’man. He’s still scared of the big world outside, maybe a little more so now that she’s not there to literally drag him along or walk beside him to shield him a little. He respects the spaces that were hers. He won’t play with her toys. He avoids her blanket. His grief has been incredible to navigate alongside our own. He makes us laugh.
We’ve spent a good amount of time hunkering down, our family of three. Maybe we’ll add another furbaby to the mix at some point, but for now we’re enjoying just being us.