I’m in the kitchen making dinner and out of the corner of my eye I see my dog’s nose poking through the kitchen door checking where everyone is.
For the past year since he had what we think was a mini-stroke in the heat of the summer, he has been pacing back and forth from his bed to the kitchen, checking, checking, checking where I am and reassuring himself that he is safe.
Every morning he walks behind me, nose at the back of my knees until I trip over him. He has little panic attacks and I can hear him when I go upstairs for something.
He must always be curled up near my feet in my office otherwise he will whine outside the door. When I pull my car into the driveway, I can hear him barking until my I turn the door handle.
The door is never locked because someone must always be home for him. The door can never be left open because he will wander away and not remember where he lives.
This has brought a mixture of sadness, hyper-vigilance and I’m sorry to say, intense irritation, on my part. A huge fan of freedom, I struggle with clinging of any kind.
So when I see his nose at the kitchen door, I feel a familiar surge of annoyance sweep up from the pit of my belly but as I automatically start to move towards the door, I realise he’s not there.
He hasn’t been there for nearly six weeks now.
And then I am overwhelmed with the missing of him.
I hear him still, pacing up and down the stairs in the morning at 6am to see if there’s anyone around to check on. Barking as I come up the driveway, whining when there is a not a human within sniffing distance. I see him curled up in his bed as I pass the lounge door, I still leave my office door open so he can come in. I miss our daily walks and seeing the changing of the season in the woods.
Such an integral part of my daily life, I am reminded of his absence every time I catch him out of the corner of my eye.
To all those who have grieved thus, I see you.