It’s been a difficult week, as we all — humans, dog, and cat — get used to the idea that there is one fewer among us. Our home seems to suddenly have become a quiet one — we never realized what a presence our Bayliss commanded. Although we are gradually moving into the acceptance phase of our grieving, I still hate coming downstairs in the early morning and not finding here there, waiting to greet me with a kiss, smile, and enthusiastic tail wag. I loved that face, that happy happy face.
Our other dog, Buster, misses her too. The day Bayliss died, he moved her favorite toy into his bed, and he’s kept it there ever since — not playing with it, just keeping it close to him, by his side.
But he and I have been taking long walks in the nearby woods, which he loves. And we’ve been talking together as a family about how we want to memorialize Bayliss after we receive her ashes — something near my garden, where she loved to spend her afternoons as I worked, seems like the right thing to do.
This past week, we have been lucky to receive the support from friends and family who loved Bayliss, too. Grieving for an animal is tricky because some people don’t understand or recognize the death in the same way they would for a person — no matter how many studies contradict this. I found this resource from the Dogs Trust in the UK to be helpful as I started to work through the emotions of losing such a good friend, who happened to have four paws instead of two feet. It also contains useful, practical information and advice, and although UK-centric, much is universally applicable.
And so we go on. There’s a garden that needs some attention, and we’re looking forward to the local peach festival (and library book sale!) this weekend. Plus, I’m knitting again. One day after another, one stitch after another, we go on.