Four-Legged Forlorn

Gating the Rainbow Bridge

This is Elvis, my previous little buddy. I got him in May 2006 when he was a year old and he was my very best friend until his death in July 2024. The photo was taken one month before he died. It is hard to believe he has been gone for a year. Of course, 19 is very old for a dog and I am so honored that this little being loved me for 18 of those years. It was more than love. I was his family and he just adored me and I adored him right back. He slept in the crook of my leg every night.

Elvis is the first pet I ever had (I was 44 when I got him) that was completely mine in every way. In my entire life, there have not been very months end to end where I lived in a home that did not have dogs or cats, but they were shared among the family or dedicated to other family members. Elvis was 100% mine.

I have lost five dogs to old age in my life and all five were traumatic. Elvis went quickly. He had a stroke while he was sleeping that woke him (and me) up and he died within 30 minutes of the time we woke up. That was a harrowing 30 minutes, but ultimately, his passing was peaceful and he died in my arms. I clearly felt when the last touch of life slipped away from him. That half hour was between 7:00-7:30 am and Eric was sleeping so Elvis and I went through it on our own, which I appreciated.

When Eric woke up, we buried Elvis together under the apple tree in the orchard. He loved being outside and that area was a favorite place of his. The emptiness was immediate and profound. My heart was completely broken. Of course, I knew it was coming and I often marveled that he wasn’t dead yet, but until the last week or so, when we were deciding if we had to make the hard choices, he was spry and loving and happy.

Frankly, I am still not over it. I miss him every single day.

Seeing how sad I was, Eric suggested that I could get another dog if I wanted to. I thought about it for a few days and the idea was quite seductive. To be clear, I am not a dog person. I am a cat person, but for whatever reason, I always seem to have dogs as well as cats.

We currently have two cats who were the shop cats when we had a brick-and-mortar store. They are completely Eric’s cats and merely tolerate my presence. They have no affection for me and are as devoted to Eric and Elvis was to me. Nemo and Dory have no use for me unless Eric is slower at feeding them than they think he should be or if Eric has gone out. Then, they become convinced that I have done something with him and scream at me, demanding that I return their father to them. Their attention never has anything to do with me directly. I am a vessel that gets them food or deprives them of Eric.

Broken-hearted Dory & Nemo, waiting for Eric to return

So far, I have not gotten another dog, although I have thought about it for many months. Selfishly, I do not want to resume the process of taking a dog out to pee every 2-3 hours. Eric and I enjoy traveling and it is easier to leave cats mostly unattended than dogs which, of course, are much needier.

The other, more insidious, thought is that if I get a dog now and it lives a long and full life, there is a possibility or even a likelihood that I will be forced to go through the same grief all over again in a couple of decades or otherwise, I will die and leave my sweet baby without me. It’s terrible that we even have to consider these things, but it is realistic.

I miss the devotion. I miss the company. I miss the unbridled exuberance. I miss the unconditional love. That being said, the previous considerations are compelling enough that I will not likely get another animal. There is an inherent loneliness in that decision and yet, it’s one of those many things that old people must ponder.

I am so honored that I got to be Elvis’s person for almost two decades. A piece of my heart will always live under the apple tree. It went into the ground right along with my sweet boy.

The older you get, which itself is a privilege that cannot be denied, the more loss you experience. So far, it has not gotten any easier for me. Grief becomes a nearly intolerable companion and the only way to shake it off is to slip into that multi-dimensional world of dementia or the dark silence of death.

Feeling that grief means we are still here, still living, and if we are lucky, still connected to other wonderful souls who will one day slip away from us or us from them. At the heart of grief is loving, daring to love and to endure the potential pain of loss. At the heart of love is the courage of vulnerability.

I don’t have answers. I am just looking for the gold to put my heart back together again.