Almost 3 weeks now

Kelly has been gone for almost 3 weeks now, and the grieving has turned from desperate to a hollow ache for her. Sometimes it almost feels as though she was a dream. Like she wasn't even here at all. I thought I was over the worst, but this second stage of the grieving process is almost worse. The more time that passes the more remote she seems and at times it's almost unbearable. We got her ashes back. She now sits in an urn on top of our bookshelf. Some of her will be spread at the cottage where she loved to be so much while she was still alive. One of her sticks was cremated with her, so that she'd have something to play with in the great beyond. Although I bet at Rainbow Bridge she'll have all the sticks she'll need. Her blanket still smells like her. I handle it very carefully because I'm so scared that it'll stop smelling of her. I've developed this desperate need to be around dogs. I crave dog! Life is just not the same without a dog around. Animals, but especially dogs, make life a whole better. Right now we have no animals around, and it sucks. I stare at dogs when I pass them on the street. Their owners must think I'm psychotic. I turn around and stare, while trying to act casual. If it's a German Shepherd it's a sadness mixed with joy. I wish she was here right now. If she was, I'd hug her and press my face against the side of her head again. Smell her. We gave her food and her treats away the other day. It was worse than I thought it would be. It felt sort of like a betrayal. Removing her beloved treats from their usual spot in the pantry was especially hard. I know it's good that another dog gets to enjoy them, but it still feels odd. She always used to go to the pantry and sit down in front of it and stare at it, and then she'd glance at you, and then back at the pantry. Her way of saying that she wanted a treat. I know nobody can live forever. She was bound to leave us sooner or later, but the absence of her is at times almost too much. I wish I could hear her, or feel her, like some dog owners say that did the weeks after their dog had died, but I hear nothing and feel nothing. I wish I could, but I don't.

Grieving our dog

Kelly, our beloved German Shepherd, passed away last week.
She was 11 years and almost 2 months.
She had been sick lately, from some kind of growth in her abdomen, but apart from that and her failing eyesight due to cataracts she was doing well. She still had zest for life and a healthy appetite for food.
I secretly felt guilty for not putting her down, but it just felt wrong to do it when she was still herself, just not as spry as before. The not being spry part is to be expected from a mature lady of her age.
Then one day last week she got up and wasn't herself. She was listless and didn't want to eat, and later on started bleeding. At first we thought, or rather hoped, that she started her heat unusually early, but I the moment I saw the first drop of blood on the floor and put that together with her behaviour I knew what was up.
I felt this chilling sensation creeping up my neck, because I knew that this was it.
That same night, we had to take her in to animal hospital to have her euthanized. Her bleeding started increasing and increasing, until we realized she might not even make it through the night.
The dreaded decision was here.
I wasn't even able to be there with her. Our 4-month old baby was asleep and my parents were out of town so we didn't have anyone to stay with him. My spouse walked her over to the hospital himself.
I said goodbye to her, almost frantically, wanting it to be over with quickly. No matter how many hugs and kisses I gave her it would never be enough so I just wanted this terribly painful moment to be over with.
I wonder if she knew what was going on. She might have been too busy trying to lick up her own blood from the floor. In all this, her main concern was cleaning up after herself.
They left. I watched through the window as they walked off. I saw her walk off towards the area where she used to play and do her business. I saw this for the last time.
Hours later, Nick came back, alone. He had Kelly's collar and leash with him. He also had the red bandana she always wore.
They weren't worn by her anymore. They were empty.
For some reason that's one of the saddest aspects of putting your pet down.
You leave your house with a living pet and return with an empty collar and leash.
The bandana still has her smell on it. Her soft fur.


From the moment she came to live with us and up until the day she passed I never stopped fearing the day she would have to leave us. I knew it would be horrible, and reality did not fall short of my fears.
Anyone who has lost a beloved pet knows how hard it is. It's inhuman. I wonder if this kind of pain is even worth having a dog.
I can still smell her on her blanket where she used to sleep on the bed at night. It's covered in her fur because she had started shedding shortly before she died.
We used to go to bed together at night. When I would take off the bedspread and lift the cover to get into bed she would hear it and take the sound to mean that it was time to go to bed, and I would hear her get up and hear her footsteps approaching. Then she'd appear in the doorway and make her way over to the bed and climb on and settle down next to me, after doing a few circles of course to make sure she was in the right spot.
I won't wash her blanket because I want to keep the smell of her as long as possible. We had to wash her pet bed because it had blood on it.
It makes me sad to think that the smell of her will decrease in intensity and then one day will disappear all together, as though she never existed.
When she had laid down next to me I would reach out and put my hand on her and stroke her or pat her. Feel her warm body, her soft fur underneath my hand. Sometimes I'd kiss her goodnight and press my face against the side of her head, just underneath her ear, where her fur was softer than on any other part of her body. I'd take a good whiff and soak up her special smell.
Then we would sleep side by side.
Evenings are the hardest, probably because of our nightly ritual, but probably also because things slow down and you have more time to think.
I glance over at the spot where she used to sleep, which is now empty.
You hear of some pet owner who have felt the animal's presence after they have passed away. The sound of their paws on the floor. The warm sensation of the animal rubbing up against their leg.
I thought if I left her favourite ball and her rubber ring on the floor, she might appear. I must admit that I even threw the ball at her at one time, just in case she'd be there to fetch it. She loved doing that.
I keep wondering where she is now, and if she's forgiven me for not being with her at that moment when she passed away.
I wonder if she's happy now, if she's at Rainbow Bridge waiting for us.
If she is there, I can guarantee that she's the dog that plays the hardest and the wildest, and she'll try to be leader of the pack.
See you later Kelly. I love you.