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clarentineGrief is an odd thing.
In the week after we lost Angel, I felt entirely at a loss, as if I'd come unanchored. It wasn’t just the dog's loss, but more the portion of my life that included dogs: walks in the morning, feeding time afterward and when I first get home in the evenings, grooming and bathing and petting and playing. The lack of walks hit especially hard for some reason. I like to walk, and had started walking with Balou, the chocolate lab we lost to a probable cancer two years ago. I walked him for 13 years, and then walked Angel for another two. I set my alarm clock forward, as if signaling to my body that it was okay to get that extra bit of sleep I would have spent on walking. And I still felt depressed.
And, sitting in front of my computer without the energy to work on anything positive, I started checking the dog rescue sites. I'd been talking about getting a German Shorthaired Pointer once Angel passed (we knew she was getting on in years, and after Balou's loss it was understood that the next dog we got would be my choice; Angel was technically my son's dog, who ended up in my care once her geriatric needs became too much for him to deal with). The GSP club has a lot of local rescue groups, and there was one in my area. They didn't have any dogs that really fit my requirements, though; their four available dogs were either male, or older females. I'd had enough of caring for older or elderly animals for a while.
Then, my husband having picked up on my interest in getting another dog, we started looking on the Petfinder.com site, which showcases dogs in SPCAs and other dog rescue agencies, mostly mixed breeds. And we found not a GSP, but a Doberman mix female, a year old, who had a nice face.
And it dawned on me, as I vacillated over whether or not to go see this dog (because I knew if I went to see her I'd adopt her, having created some sort of commitment toward the animal and knowing they all needed homes), that I wasn't grieving for Angel. We'd known we were going to lose her, even before she became ill that final time. I was grieving for Balou, whose loss came as a terrible shock and still brings tears to my eyes. I was grieving, too, for the person I was before he fell ill, for the person who didn't have to make decisions that meant life and death to the four-legged members of our household.
Long story short, I went to see the dog one day and she was not there, though I'd been promised she would be. My husband said that maybe that was an omen, and we should look at a different dog. I still felt obligated to give this one her chance, though, and went the next day (the Sunday of Labor Day weekend) to a second adoption "fair", and there she was. Kaylee came home with us Sunday.
She's got some bad habits that will have to be corrected, but they aren't anything I can't handle or train her out of. She has a lovely shape and very attentive personality, one of my biggest requirements, and while she's not exactly what I thought I was looking for I know she fits into our family very well. My son and husband both love her. And so do I. (We started walking again yesterday morning.)
Recognizing what I was grieving over gave me the leverage to deal with the pain and, while it will never go away completely, I can put it aside. Pain is the cost of loving, but for all of that, it's worth it.
In the week after we lost Angel, I felt entirely at a loss, as if I'd come unanchored. It wasn’t just the dog's loss, but more the portion of my life that included dogs: walks in the morning, feeding time afterward and when I first get home in the evenings, grooming and bathing and petting and playing. The lack of walks hit especially hard for some reason. I like to walk, and had started walking with Balou, the chocolate lab we lost to a probable cancer two years ago. I walked him for 13 years, and then walked Angel for another two. I set my alarm clock forward, as if signaling to my body that it was okay to get that extra bit of sleep I would have spent on walking. And I still felt depressed.
And, sitting in front of my computer without the energy to work on anything positive, I started checking the dog rescue sites. I'd been talking about getting a German Shorthaired Pointer once Angel passed (we knew she was getting on in years, and after Balou's loss it was understood that the next dog we got would be my choice; Angel was technically my son's dog, who ended up in my care once her geriatric needs became too much for him to deal with). The GSP club has a lot of local rescue groups, and there was one in my area. They didn't have any dogs that really fit my requirements, though; their four available dogs were either male, or older females. I'd had enough of caring for older or elderly animals for a while.
Then, my husband having picked up on my interest in getting another dog, we started looking on the Petfinder.com site, which showcases dogs in SPCAs and other dog rescue agencies, mostly mixed breeds. And we found not a GSP, but a Doberman mix female, a year old, who had a nice face.
And it dawned on me, as I vacillated over whether or not to go see this dog (because I knew if I went to see her I'd adopt her, having created some sort of commitment toward the animal and knowing they all needed homes), that I wasn't grieving for Angel. We'd known we were going to lose her, even before she became ill that final time. I was grieving for Balou, whose loss came as a terrible shock and still brings tears to my eyes. I was grieving, too, for the person I was before he fell ill, for the person who didn't have to make decisions that meant life and death to the four-legged members of our household.
Long story short, I went to see the dog one day and she was not there, though I'd been promised she would be. My husband said that maybe that was an omen, and we should look at a different dog. I still felt obligated to give this one her chance, though, and went the next day (the Sunday of Labor Day weekend) to a second adoption "fair", and there she was. Kaylee came home with us Sunday.
She's got some bad habits that will have to be corrected, but they aren't anything I can't handle or train her out of. She has a lovely shape and very attentive personality, one of my biggest requirements, and while she's not exactly what I thought I was looking for I know she fits into our family very well. My son and husband both love her. And so do I. (We started walking again yesterday morning.)
Recognizing what I was grieving over gave me the leverage to deal with the pain and, while it will never go away completely, I can put it aside. Pain is the cost of loving, but for all of that, it's worth it.
