I Didn’t Just Lose a Dog,Posted: September 9, 2015
I lost my family.
Yes. I lost my family. My dog was my family. For seven years [since my husband died] she was all I had all day, all night, weeks, months, years. She was the first and only one I saw each morning, and she was the last I touched every night. She was the joy in my life, and she was also the challenge the last year as I had to stay a step ahead and help her have quality in her geriatric days. I am still processing her loss.
Some say, it’s just a dog. Some say, I’ve been there, too. Some truly understand.
She was my people. My blood-family people all live four hours and plus away. She was the one I talked to, and she answered with her eyes. She was the one I cried to. She was the one I laughed with and at. I could read her mind, and she could read mine. She was the one that slept close when it was cold. She was what I looked forward to when I drove into the driveway. She was the reason I had to come home at night.
She was the reason….
As her vet said in a sympathy card, “She was truly a great gal with a perfect personality. I know she will truly be missed in your home.”
And so I thank her doctors, and I thank my faraway blood-family people who call and worry about me, and I thank many kind friends who express such caring and warm feelings, and I thank all my Facebook friends who have had no choice but to indulge me over the past months in my posts on the Geriatric Dog, and I thank everyone for patience as I move on looking for that new reason to come home, because home right now is just a house. It is not a home.