A year on

My husband pointed out to me the other day that it was the one year anniversary of the death of our first puppy (he was a senior dog by then, but he'll always be a puppy to me). It was something I was aware of in the back of my mind, but slightly jolting in the moment anyway when he brought it up.

A solid year. How completely bizarre.

I admit before I became a born-again dog person, I rolled my eyes when people expressed deep grief and took time off from work when their pet died. I was an asshole.

I was baptized by dog spit in that very first puppy lick to my face, a total convert at the first heavy sigh as he rested his head against my heartbeat. And then I realized this dog would die some day and I'd be a blubbering mess for only God knew how long.

It turns out that the grieving wreck would give way to numb and resistant to fill the empty space in our home. I questioned for a while if we'd even get another and just be a 1 dog household. The rest of the house was a little more eager to move forward.

Out of the blue one day this past winter, possessed by who knows what, I committed us to once again being a 2 dog household. And then immediately wondered if I'd made a huge mistake - this is normal for me with every.single.dog we've adopted. I question that I can handle it. I question how well the dogs will get along. I question my ability to love this little creature in the manner he or she deserves.

When our new four-legged family member finally came to us, there were some interesting coincidences between him and our deceased pup. And clear cut differences.

By the time the one year anniversary rolled around and registered in my brain, I glanced across the hall and watched the new fella happily watching me back as he chewed on one of his toys. Not a replacement, most definitely, but filling a space that was less painful to consider as time went by.

Tears can still well if I linger on the thought of our senior statesman's passing too long. My heart's still pretty tender about him. But now my days are consumed with teaching another wagging heart-stealer the ropes of the household and asking "What's in your mouth?!".

And this new member of our pack is steadily feeling more secure and growing more independent of us. The resident senior dog, our wild howler monkey of a girl, is acclimating to the new energy and though she's loathe to admit it, she's starting to like him.