The Dogless Life

It's very weird. Each time I walk into another room, I keep expecting to see Echo--bounding off the couch, ears up, tail wagging, ready for a walk outside. When I am upstairs working on the computer, I have half an ear out, listening for her padding up the stairs to the loft. When I've been involved in a project, I suddenly think, "did I let the dog in?"

We're very sad, but coping for the most part. We tell funny stories about her, and laugh through our sudden tears when one of us says, "do you remember when she...?" All normal processes, but it's hard to get used to being without her constant presence. So much of our daily structure revolved around her needs, and we are suddenly rudderless.

Bill is coping by cruising dog-adoption websites, prefacing each "listen to this!" with a disclaimer of "I know we're not ready for this now, but..." He has decided that Echo was indeed a Belgian Malenois, after doing research on their behaviors and putting to rest the issue of her black-spotted tongue--it turns out that lots of breeds have this characteristic, and it does not denote any Chow-chow heritage by itself. He has stopped calling Echo the "Faux Malenois."

I am just taking it one day at a time, trying to desensitize myself to the jolts of remembrance and the eerie absence of my furry friend. I'm waiting for time to do its magic, and the images of her death to be replaced by mental pictures of her alive and active.

Sigh.