Random Thoughts I Had After Losing My Dog
You adopt a dog and you stress out over them, worry about them, wonder if you're doing a good job raising them, spoil them rotten, buy them the finest, grain-free foods, spend hundreds of dollars out-of-pocket for state-of-the-art health care, all for it to culminate to you rolling up your dead, poop-covered dog in a blanket one day. And then you blame yourself. Wondering if perhaps if you shelled out more money and spoiled them even more you could've avoided this outcome. It's hell.
I miss the smell of my dog, even though she usually smelled bad.
Her dog hair is all that remains of her now. I used to be annoyed at all the shed hair I had to vacuum, but now, having to vacuum up her dog hair for the last time brings me tremendous anxiety.
I've never really been truly alone for 16 years. With her gone, the apartment is so large and quiet. It's never been this quiet.
I keep staring at the spot under the bed where she passed.
Her body was so stiff when I touched her. Her eyes were half open. For some reason, this memory is the main one stuck in my head.
You don't realize how most of your day and routine revolve around the dog and prioritizes her. My whole daily routine is now gone, or will have to be redone. Looking at the clock at 10pm and thinking it's time to do something — all of that is gone now. It's a weird feeling.
I think of my new life without her here and it feels empty and uncertain. I wonder when stuff will start mattering again.