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, he would always, always, always try to follow us out to the end of the (long) dock. Even though he would never find a place to rest on the dock. Never once did he sit or lie down.
The first step he took, the first day we could go out on the new dock that was finished after that Hurricane, Joe promptly pooped on the dock. As if to christen it, perhaps.
At any rate, some of our best memories of Joe are when he would come follow us out on that dock.
In his later years, much, much more slowly, of course. I would try to hurry up my daily Sun Salutations on the dock's end in order to meet him half way and then walk with him back. No matter how hard the struggle, he never failed to meet me.
I would listen for the tap, tap, tap of his paws as they slowly (and sometimes not very surely) made their way out. Then, when in downward dog position, would search for his smiling, upside down face as his wobbly and white figure would come deliberately to find me.
The last time we heard him bark, in fact, was on that dock. In the aftermath of Hurricane Irma, so much detritus from other docks had washed up on ours, and it was hard to get past - out to the end. Well, we did, the three of us, but Joe couldn't make it over the other dock bits that had washed up on ours. He longingly looked at us and barked as if to say "I'm here. I'm trying to be with you. Don't forget me."
Don't worry JTD, we never will.
The hardest, though, has been the dock.
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, he would always, always, always try to follow us out to the end of the (long) dock. Even though he would never find a place to rest on the dock. Never once did he sit or lie down.
The first step he took, the first day we could go out on the new dock that was finished after that Hurricane, Joe promptly pooped on the dock. As if to christen it, perhaps.
At any rate, some of our best memories of Joe are when he would come follow us out on that dock.
In his later years, much, much more slowly, of course. I would try to hurry up my daily Sun Salutations on the dock's end in order to meet him half way and then walk with him back. No matter how hard the struggle, he never failed to meet me.
I would listen for the tap, tap, tap of his paws as they slowly (and sometimes not very surely) made their way out. Then, when in downward dog position, would search for his smiling, upside down face as his wobbly and white figure would come deliberately to find me.
The last time we heard him bark, in fact, was on that dock. In the aftermath of Hurricane Irma, so much detritus from other docks had washed up on ours, and it was hard to get past - out to the end. Well, we did, the three of us, but Joe couldn't make it over the other dock bits that had washed up on ours. He longingly looked at us and barked as if to say "I'm here. I'm trying to be with you. Don't forget me."
Don't worry JTD, we never will.
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