February 13th 2012 12:59 am
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There's an emptiness in the house after they're gone.
Even if they weren't the only dog,
even if the house is full of dogs that like to bark at the wind,
even if the house holds a cat that likes to yowl when he's hungry,
even if the house is home to a hamster that spends four hours spinning her wheel at night,
even if the house is called home by two gerbils that like to gnaw on things all hours of the day,
even if people call the house home - people who sometimes argue, people who often laugh, people who like to talk...
there's an emptiness in the house after they're gone.
The emptiness comes with a certain silence -
a dark, consuming, heart wrenching silence.
You'll sit in your favorite chair reminiscing,
expecting them to walk up to you -
waiting for them to bring you their favorite toy,
to lie at your feet and thump their tail as they sleep,
to put their head gently on your lap and look up at you with their soft gaze,
or to beg you for a scrap of meat.
But they won't come, and the house will feel empty.
You'll lie in bed at night,
waiting to hear them bark at the strange noise that woke them,
to squeak their favorite toy while they play just a room away,
to cry and pace when a storm rolls in at midnight,
or to cry by the door when they have to pee.
But they won't, and the house will feel empty.
You'll get up in the morning,
waiting for them to greet you when you walk out your bedroom door,
waiting for them to demand to be fed because they went through the night without food,
waiting for them to demand play while you're still half asleep,
or waiting for them to demand to be walked earlier than they know they should.
But they won't make no demands, and the house will feel empty.
If you have other dogs,
you may find yourself preparing a dish for a dog that is no more,
or grabbing a leash for a dog that can no longer be walked,
or reaching down to pet a dog that isn't there.
And the dish, the leash, your hand -
the house will feel empty.
There's a silence that follows when they leave.
A silence that seems to drag on.
A silence that seems to last forever.
No matter how loud the dogs bark,
no matter how many howls they let out in confusion,
in pack separation -
the silence will be there.
The silence will fill your heart.
The silence will fill the hearts of all those that survived -
the dogs as they look for their friend,
their pack member,
their family member.
The cat as he wonders why everyone looks so sad,
as he tries to comfort the humans with as many purrs as he can,
as he head butts your hand as if trying to tell you,
"It will be okay. I'm still here."
The humans as they walk around,
face staring ever so blankly because they just don't understand.
cried in solitude.
Buried in the fur of the surviving dogs,
as you hold them in your lap and just let it all out.
The words that no one else will understand,
spoken to those dogs in silence.
Whispered into their ears as they cry with you.
You know they don't understand English,
but crying is the same in any language.
They understand more than you know.
But the silence remains.
The emptiness lingers.
When your friend,
leaves the world,
they leave behind an emptiness,
they leave behind a silence.
No matter how full the house they leave behind is.
June 30th 2011 3:59 pm
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It hurts far too much being here and seeing Cinnamon's page. I need some time away. Maybe I'll lurk around. I don't know. But for now, I'm leaving. I just can't do this any more. I tried, but I just can't.
RIP Cinnamon. You're missed so much. So stinking much.
May 24th 2011 4:18 pm
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I miss the way you used to tease me with your toys.
The way you'd gather your favorite squeaker from your basket, run to me as if you wanted to play, and then run away when I reached for the toy.
The entire time, you'd be wagging your tail in pure joy.
To you, it wasn't being mean.
To you, it was a game.
I miss the way you used to squeak your toy late in the middle of the night.
It was loud, and sometimes it kept me up.
But it reminded me that you were only one room away.
It reminded me that I'd wake up in the morning and you'd still be there, waiting for me.
I miss the way you would always lay in the most awkward places.
You were our biggest dog, and yet, you were always the one that would place yourself right under our feet.
I can't count the number of times I almost tripped over you upon waking up at five o'clock in the morning to get ready for school.
I can't count the number of times I DID trip over you upon waking up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water.
I miss the way you'd lay your head on my lap when I was feeling sad.
There was always something comforting about the way you'd stare up at me with your sweet, honey brown eyes.
Even on my darkest days, having your head upon my lap would make me feel pure joy.
I knew that no matter what happened,
no matter how hard I fell,
no matter how sad I was,
you were there to comfort me.
I miss the way you'd play peek a boo with me.
To you it was a game.
You'd sneak between my knees and look up at me with your sweet eyes.
It was fun to you, it was a way to play.
I miss the way you'd stick your butt in the air while playing with the little dogs.
Almost every dog has done it at one point or another.
But none of them ever did so the way you always did.
You'd keep it there for minutes at a time while waiting for one of the little ones to accept the play invitation.
Their decline never upset you.
You'd still stay there in play bow position, waiting for at least one of them to return the invitation.
I miss the way I always found your fur everywhere in the house.
On the couches.
On my clothes.
On the carpet.
On my bed.
In the shower drain.
In the sink drain.
... While I was cooking.
I miss the way you walked me whenever we went for a walk.
I should have trained you to perform a decent heel.
But I never did.
I trained you not to pull too hard and that was good enough for us.
You enjoyed your walks as long as you got to walk at least an inch ahead.
And that was good enough for us.
I miss the way you'd climb on my lap while I was sitting on the couch.
You were by no means a lap dog, but you made a darn good one.
You might not have been small like our other dogs,
you might not have been a Chihuahua like our small ones,
you were my ugly Chihuahua,
and my beautiful Shetland Sheepdog mix.
I miss feeding you in the evening.
You were always a finicky eater.
There were so many brands you wouldn't touch.
I could spend fifty dollars on a bag of kibble for you, and you wouldn't like it.
But when I found something you did like, it felt like an accomplishment.
And when you happily ate, it gave me a feeling of joy.
I miss your gentle kisses.
I miss your sweet eyes.
I miss the feeling of your soft, cinnamon colored fur.
I miss watching you happily chew on a treat.
I miss buying toys for you.
I miss taking pictures of you.
I miss watching you play with Meepster.
I miss watching you gently bathe Precious with your tongue.
I miss picking you up as if you were twenty pounds lighter than you really were.
I miss taking you to the vet.
I miss struggling with you to give you a bath.
The thing I miss most of all, though, Cinnamon, is the way your name was always spoken with joy when you were with us.
Even when you did something you shouldn't have been doing, there was a bit of joy in my voice when I spoke your name.
Because I was filled with so much love for you that even your misdoings couldn't take that joy out of my voice.
Now, though, when I speak your name in the middle of the night, that's longing on my tongue.
I long to be able to gently kiss your head again.
I long to be able to stare into your sweet eyes again.
I long to pet your soft, cinnamon colored fur again.
I long to give you a treat again.
I long to buy you another toy.
I long to take one more picture of you.
I long to see you play with Meepster again.
I long to see you gently bathe Precious again.
I long to pick you up as if you were twenty pounds lighter one last time.
I long to take you to the vet again.
I long to bathe you once more.
But most of all, I long for the day when it hurts less than it does now.
And I only say less because I know it will always hurt, but I also know that one day I'll be able to think about you without crying. I long for that day.
But for now, whenever I speak your name, that longing will be there.
And I miss when it wasn't, because that's how much I miss you.
"I loved my dog so much that I went into a depression after losing her and still haven't come out." ~Me on "what it means to love" while discussing love and faith elsewhere.