peanut butter & string cheese

It’s quieter now.

I miss the pitter patter of their paws against the hardwood floors.

I miss hearing them bark outside – annoying but a reminder that they were still here.

I miss yelling at them to stop digging through the trash can that sits in the corner of my bedroom.

How lucky are we to get the opportunity to love so hard that when we experience loss it feels insurmountable?

Growing up I never considered myself a dog person. My dogs were big and energetic. They were loud and jumped up on friends when they would come to visit. But, they were always there.

I remember many years ago, we accidentally left the gate open and they both got outside. We ran around the neighborhood frantically looking for them and within a few minutes of yelling their names and driving around, the both of them came trotting back. I burst into tears, so relieved.

We got more time.

We’re approaching a year without Hope and this past Sunday marks a month since we said goodbye to Rocco. It still doesn't feel real. I’m in one room of the house and part of me still expects to see them on their beds in the living room. Only their beds are no longer there and neither are they.

I don't think I expected to feel so heartbroken. I guess I didn’t know what to expect - I’d never had to say goodbye to a dog before, let alone two within less than a year. I guess I assumed it wouldn't be “as bad” as losing a human, but to assume that it wouldn't feel as big was naive of me. Who are we to be able to predict the pain that comes from loss - in all its shapes and forms.

The weeks leading up to saying goodbye to both Rocco and Hope, I made a conscious effort to look them in the eyes. To tell them how much I loved them. To spoil them rotten - no limit on treats or people food.

Knowing that no matter where we went or for how long we were there, they would always be here waiting for us to come home is a comfort I wasn’t fully aware of until it was no longer here.

It’s quieter now.

I miss being able to set my plate on the ground for them to lick up the leftovers.

I miss going on neighborhood walks - taking it all in as they constantly stopped to smell the grass.

I miss having to feed them dinner or refill their water bowls.

How lucky are we to get the opportunity to love so hard that when we experience loss it feels insurmountable?

The day before we said goodbye to Rocco, I said to my mom that I didn’t think I could do this again - love another dog only to someday go through more the pain…more loss.

Unrealistic concept though huh? Love is one of the most universal human experiences, but with love comes loss. To not want to go through the pain and sadness again would mean also shutting out all the moments, memories and magic that come with love.

So, of course I’d do it again. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat because I can't imagine having grown up without them - Christmases and birthdays and traveling to Big Bear during a pandemic.

Growing up in a house with six people, several cats and two big dogs was always chaotic but never boring. I look forward to being able to love another dog as much as I loved Rocco and Hope. I look forward to being loved by another dog the way they loved me. 

To my sweet, childhood dogs - I can only hope that wherever you are, you’re together. And that there are endless walks, jars of peanut butter and lots of string cheese.