So much has changed in our little household. Wherever we look, it is a different aspect. What we expect to see just is not there. It hasn't helped much, taking away all of Riley's little beds and blankets, his water dish, removing his little porcelain dishes from the countertop, since they will no longer be needed.

I gathered together all of his towels, his blankets, his sweaters, and washed them. Heaven knows why. Usually when they're washed it's because they've been used and need to be cleaned. I thought: I'm washing away what we have left of his smell, and that is not what I want to do, but I did it anyway, as though it might help somehow in bringing closure to this dearly tender passage in our lives. Doesn't matter, I still try to gain an impression of his presence, gone though it is, forever. I've tucked everything away. My husband put all the beds into a large plastic bed. We don't know what we'll do with it all.

Doing as so many others of our acquaintance have done, bringing another dog into their lives after the loss of one beloved companion, doesn't seem open to us. We are now 78, we would sooner or later face the reality that a loved pet might outlive us, and then what happens to it, who will take it? The thought of a small vulnerable creature ending up in a shelter, at the Humane Society, awaiting adoption is anything but appealing.

The thought of constant concerns about the well-being and security of a small dependent we lavish our love on and who returns to us the only thanks we would ever require; confidence in our ability to nurture and protect it, and then having to experience the anguish of parting is hugely affecting to us now. 

To us, his loss represents a monumental shock. It's still early days, but we are trying to adjust. We hug and we speak quietly, taking comfort from one another, but the memory of his last hours and days with us, and seeing him on life support, then having it all taken away, and with it his suffering, will haunt us for the rest of our lives.

Every moment of our day there is a little trigger, expectations that come automatically from habit; to fill his water bowl, to see him sleeping comfortably as we arise from bed, to prepare him for a walk in the ravine, to anticipate his usual reminding me that dinnertime is approaching. The triggers are there, but he is not.