Joe The Blog

I hadn't realized until Joe's passing that I had never lived in a house in Florida without a dog. Joe the Dog, specifically.  We couldn't have puppers in our Chicago condo, so as soon as we moved, we were able to have Joe and his brother Chester - who belonged to my in-laws. The brother dogs spent lots of time together and loved each other dearly. Chester had cancer pretty severely by the time he was 12, so we lost him several years ago.  It didn't occur to me how physically and literally empty the house would be until that first day I came home to work. No yellow dog on the kitchen floor. No sleepy-eyed Joe on his family room bed. No disjointed footsteps arriving from a deep slumber in the bedroom to the landing in the great room.  Even if he seemed slightly perturbed and perhaps mildly annoyed that I had inconveniently arrived home during peak sleepy-time, I was always so blessedly greeted by that sweet face. And, in his later years, able to feel I was here...

We picked up Joe's ashes this week. Our thoughtful and sympathetic Vet advised us not to look at all of the accoutrement until we got home. After yet another fresh round of tears, I gingerly placed Joe's ashes in the lavender toile wrapping on his dog bed. I/We still have not opened the contents. The balance between acting/being logical and practical and properly sentimental v. wallowing in complete and overwhelming grief and utter sadness is tough to achieve. With any loss. There's also that guilty feeling of experiencing things and living daily life - never mind actually having moments of happiness. Funnily enough, we were asked to puppy-sit for a dear friend this weekend. I knew it would help to temporarily eliminate the lonely and stagnant feeling settling over the house. I further knew it would be a fun and happy responsibility for our young son. Puppies are a welcome distraction when one is trying to avoid anything more serious or pressing, because they cause a ...

One of the things I miss the most about Joe the Dog is his constant, consistent companionship. In fact, for a week now, I have been averting my eyes from his "places" - the kitchen floor, the rug next to the bed, his bed by the fireplace (where his ashes now sit). The hardest, though, has been the dock. One of the best things about this house is that there are only three, one-step stairs. So, with Joe and I consistently falling down our three flights of stairs together in the old house, this was a welcome improvement. This is because no matter what, no matter how he struggled, he never failed to follow us room-to-room in the house. As he grew older and more tired, and I began very fortunately working more from home, I would try to contain my activities to one room for the longest time possible, so he wouldn't feel obliged. What never ceased to surprise me though, was no matter how hard he struggled after the ruptured disk he suffered in Hurricane Matthew, h...

Joe the Dog, like all dogs, was the best dog in the world. He left us last week after we determined he was ready after his wonderful 14 and a half years helping make the world, at least our small part of it, a better place. As anyone who has lost a beloved, constant companion knows - there is an emptiness that pervades. Which may seem silly or trivial to others, sometimes even the beholder, because after all "IT was only a pet". That said, and having not gone through all of the 5 Stages of Grief (living in the purgatory that is somewhere between Anger and Bargaining), I started to subconsciously reflect on what exactly is missing. Why does it feel literally and figuratively empty in the house or on the dock? So, I thought I would indulge myself by writing musings and thoughts about Joe, and maybe dogs and pets in general. And maybe how much life is enriched, even at its natural end, by such unselfish, unconditional love.