Table scraps make me sad. I reflexively look for the doggy bowl that’s no longer there.
Earlier this month we said goodbye to our precious dog Winston. He was a small animal that made a huge impact on our family. The dog never said a word (of course), but the connections he made spoke volumes. Our “first baby” lived a long life, but the time we had together still seemed too short.
We almost never met Winston. My wife’s introduction to him was at a veterinarian clinic following the dog’s surgery after a run-in with a car. The Davises, friends of a friend who found him, called the scrawny and scarred boy “Crash” afterwards in reference to the movie Bull Durham. Winston would later escape our north Atlanta yard at least three times, eventually returning home thanks to God’s good graces and kind, alert neighbors.
We are thankful for much more than those fortunate twists of fate, of course. Winston was there for all but two months of our marriage. He went from a “big brother” around our babies to their best friend as they grew and towered over him. Winston is there in beach photos with dearly departed great grandparents and scenes from countless family events and holidays. He loved to join us on the water up in the mountains, where we joked that our boy would still be frantically searching for people food even if the boat was sinking.
As I reflect on our fresh heartbreak, I realized that not only has it been 15 years since I bid final farewell to a dog (one that had stayed with my parents when I moved out), Winston was also my first indoors pet. The enormous sensory impact our diminutive dog had on our everyday lives over 14-plus years has turned into a heavy and often haunting weight in his absence. I really miss his curled-up warmth next to my feet in bed, the casual click-clack down the hallway when he’d come to check on me in the office, his proud prance at the start of a walk and a million other things.
The sadness will fade but the loving memories will remain, they say. That is true, but for now I struggle with the many small things that remind me of Winston’s big void, including every mealtime.
bleeveblog 