The Sound of Silence and a Beta Fish

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 to help him and love him and pet him and spoil him.

So, for now, instead of working from home, when I am not at my office, I work at Starbucks. If caught in a rare in-between, I try to talk to Jaws the Fish. Who is mostly receptive, and only seems slightly less annoyed that I've disturbed him from his Stranger Things-like upside down lair on his plastic grass.

The worst part of the reality of the emptiness is that Joe will never fill it again.

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