When a dog dies, the physical space a dog filled while living–the bed by the fireplace, the worn circle of carpet under your desk, the harness on the hook by the door–becomes an echo.
When a dog dies, some people say, “You’ll get another,” or “He was a good dog.” Other people, my people, send love and lift you up, but say little because there are no words. At least, not any that make sense.
When a dog dies, the world moves on from the loss that cracked you open and split your heart because, yes, your dog was a good dog, and yes, you’ll get another someday, but not this dog. This dog is gone, but he fills so much space with his echo.
When a dog dies–no, when your dog dies–the world contracts because there’s literally nothing that will ever recreate or replace that specific bond, that specific relationship. Of course you’ll love other dogs and develop wonderful, strong relationships with other dogs, but this dog is gone. This relationship, this friendship also dies when a dog dies.
Emmett died a year ago this past Saturday.
Emmett was my light. He changed my life.
I have the tactile memory of my hand in his fur: His back was short and wiry, oily. His neck was thick and fuzzy below his ears. The fur on his forehead was soft and silky, especially along the blond patch on his forehead.
I have the muscle memory of my right arm holding his leash: He walked so nicely alongside me until there was a possibility of food or being petted by a stranger, then he lurched forward in joy.
I have the emotional memory of the many hours we spent in various animal hospitals as he waged two battles against cancer and numerous battles against non-food-items that he shouldn’t have consumed.
I have the pride and humor and love and tenaciousness he brought to everything he did, from his therapy dog work to traveling the country to playing games with his brothers and sister to napping with abandon.
I have all that and so much more, plus gobs of pictures and videos that I can’t look at yet without that aching echo.
But what I don’t have is him.
When a dog dies, it changes everything: the landscape, the color.
When a dog dies–no, when your dog dies–that echo simply becomes a part of you.
Amen to that!! ??
Yes. (I wish I had more words, but mostly I have tears.)
I have my first dog now, and I dread someday facing this echo. Thank you for writing so beautifully about Emmett. You may be familiar with Tracey at https://ohmelvin.com/. Her “love lives on” philosophy and faith in how her dogs guide her is incredibly affirming and beautiful. If you’ve not read her blog, I encourage you to. I think you might identify with some of what she writes.
I lost my dog just ovet 2 years ago and I agree. That echo is still ringing. My heart has truly lost a piece.
One of our dogs died Easter Sunday and I am so thankful for the few friends who understand. She was only two and it took us by complete surprise (kidney failure). I have gone over every moment of the week leading to it, second guessing every decision big or small. Life goes on but it won’t be the same because she isn’t there. The house is achingly quiet, even with the two kids and others dogs always making noise.
I understand. There really are no words when your heart dog/canine soul mate leaves this world. When Callie left, she took a HUGE piece of my heart. I love all my dogs – as you said – but Callie was more to me than a “fur baby”. She was my teacher, my helper, my best friend, and my soul mate. She helped me raise and take care of Shadow and was Shadow’s best friend as well. And when Ducky came along, Callie helped me raise her too. I can’t believe she’s been gone nearly 3 years. But she’s only gone physically. She is still with me in my heart every day and her spirit watches over Shadow, Ducky, hubby, and me all the time. I know she’s with me, even if I can’t see her or touch her. That bond we had – still have – transcends everything and becomes part of that echo you mentioned. We all adapt to a loss in our own way. I wish you love and light my friend.
One of the most moving and heartfelt posts I have ever read.
My dog, Ash died by my side. It was a terrible time to go through, in the early morning hours. I still hoped she’d make it through that night. That time, I was wrong. That was over a year, now. But she is still with me. *As Emmett is, with you* I don’t believe dogs die. They just turn into butterflies we dream about, by night. They are too noble to just “die.”
Hugs.
Beautiful post.
Yes, beautifully said. I lost my first dog, Angel this past October. I remember she was in one of your blogs awhile ago. She was my light too. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. She was my first fur baby. And while my husband and I adopted another, Zoe and are in the process of training her, I will never get over the loss of Angel. Many people did not understand when it happened. I am glad to know that there are ones that do understand. Thank you.
great post
Maggie, this is so beautiful. My own loss is too fresh to be able to think of anything more to say. “What I don’t have is him”. That says it all. ?
PS….thank you for thinking of us and sending that lovely card. It really means a lot to me. ???
So sorry about Emmett. Losing a pet is the worst. I’m currently gathering a bunch of inspirational pet loss quotes and memes to add to a blog post on my site in hopes of helping others grieving the loss of a pet. Hugs.
Thank you for sharing that. I know talking of Emmett’s death has been so hard for you Maggie.
Beautiful, Maggie. Sending you love on this hard anniversary.
Maggie, I came to your site today to distract myself from my life.
Instead, I was reminded of your loss of your wonderful boy, Emmett, ( my former dog Cole’s ‘twin’) and I grieve with you and for you all over again. I can feel how hard this has been for you; it comes through loud and clear in every word you wrote. It really doesn’t get any easier with time. As you so aptly said, the memory in your heart will never balance out the physical loss; we are just never quite whole again.
This post came at a critical time for me today, as my newest and youngest dog, Freya,
has been steadily going downhill.
Freya is 4 and I’ve only had her for 2 1/2 years, nowhere near enough time for either of us. She is still eating and drinking, but she has the glassy stare that says her thoughts are elsewhere.
Following hundreds and hundreds of dollars in tests and failed diagnosis after diagnosis ( ALL to no avail) after a year we are now at the end of this journey, with none of us, including our Vet, the wiser or closer to knowing what is wrong with Freya or what happened to her just over a year ago that has cut her life so short. Everything seems so much worse when you don’t know why.
She hasn’t run in a year, or played with a toy, or enjoyed any of the fruits and vegetables she used to beg for. Her walk has had to be reduced to less than 10 minutes and she needs to be helped up the stairs and lifted into my bed each and every time.
Her body is failing her and it won’t be much longer at this point.
The only consolation for me is that she isn’t in any pain.
I hurt more than enough for the both of us.
Freya is so very tired.
All she does is sleep, longer and deeper, every day, getting ready for The Big Sleep;
while all I do is watch her chest rise and fall and listen to her breathing, waiting for it to stop.
🙁
My heart goes out to you.
Leslie
My heart goes out to you.
Maggie, your posts about losing Emmett, both this one and your past posts from last year, are very helpful for me. Thank you.
Beautiful written post. I recently lost my dog to cancer. So, I can relate to all the many trips to the cancer center. She was a great girl. She loves going to her nose work classes. Thank you for beautiful words.
No matter how many dogs we have, I still think of them each year when their birthday would have been and when they passed to the Rainbow Bridge. It is hard. Each one is different and wonderful and I just keep the memories and the pictures and it helps me get through. I still have tears for the one I lost over 11 years ago (my first heart dog). And I thought I would never find another heart dog but I did and then I lost her 3 years ago. But each one has a pawprint on my heart. I don’t have a heart anymore but just a giant pawprint.