It is so much harder with Faithful Companion than it was with my dad. Awful to say, I know. But when your father dies, there's this whole thing. I'd like Faithful Companion's name to go in the paper, I'd like a thing at church for him, I'd like people I hardly know to stop me and tell me how sorry they are, I want a leave of absence from work.
I want the world to stop for a bit.
This is so tough.
This morning when I got up, I talked to him some, said goodbye, reminisced about the time we had together. Told him how much I'd miss him. When things were really crazy in my life, who was I going to go for a nice long walk with before I went to bed to talk it through and sort it all out? I confessed to him that when I say I love dogs, what I mean is that I love my dog; other people's dogs are just "okay" and not quite as perfect as my dog is.
Oh oh oh. My boy-boy with the big brown eyes.
I closed this morning by sending him off on his wanderings on the astral plane by giving him the Stern Commands I'd leave him with every morning when I left the house. I did it not because I expected his obedience, but just because he would get this serious look on his face, like an Army Air Corps pilot in some World War II movie getting orders for a bombing run over Germany. I'd say, "Okay, let's review. While I'm away, NO up on the furniture, NO pee-pee in the house, and NO barking."
And then, over my shoulder, as I was heading out the door, I'd call, "Love you! Best dog ever!"