“A dog doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his.”
— Marley and Me
It’s hard to believe that just one short week ago today, our Golden Retriever was still alive.
Better not to think about it…and yet, think about it I do.
Memories of Ellie are everywhere.
- I look out the window and see her playful paw prints in the snow.
- I come down the stairs in the morning and no longer have to step over her sleeping figure on the landing. Little tufts of her golden-red hair are still there, though. This makes me cry.
- I return from an afternoon of running errands and she’s not there to greet me. This, too, makes me cry. No one was ever as happy to see me as Ellie. No one meets at the door the way that Ellie always did.
We still don’t know why Ellie died. The results from the autopsy are inconclusive at this point—there were no lesions on her body, no bite marks, and nothing in her stomach at the time of her death. The lab is waiting on the results from the chemical tests; maybe then we’ll have an answer.
Meanwhile, we have our memories.
This was a photo originally posted for Paula.
Paula gets dog ownership. What’s more, she helped me get it.
I phoned Paula from Wisconsin the minute I heard about Ellie’s death and together we wept. I knew she would understand my heartbreak and that she would pray us through the next few days.
I reckon she’s still praying.
Thank you, too, for all your kind condolences. You understand that while a pet is not technically a member of the family—not by birthright, anyway—it still seems very much like it. The death of a pet leaves a huge absence behind—and a hole in one’s heart that only time can heal.
This is not a cross I would have chosen myself, but it is the one that God sent me and I will try my best to shoulder it. I will say this—there is nothing like a loss such as this to make you count your blessings.
The little annoyances just seem….little now.
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