I say “we” because I have had the great privilege of having it be a purely family affair.
Scud was lying comfortably in front of the bonfire. her favorite place. Her daughter, whom she has always loved, hugged her gently, and her wife and son were sitting nearby.
It didn't make it any easier, but it was the right thing to do for her. She left quietly and we all tried to avoid eye contact.
Since then, we have lost other important and beloved figures. My father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly after a long, happy and enduring life of 90 years.
His brother, my beloved uncle, also passed away. A dear friend of mine passed away from breast cancer after a long and courageous battle.
And then I realized there was a difference. Dogs tend to spend their entire lives with one person or family.
When they die, we usually try to replace them, often with mixed results. I now proudly own three Labradors. I am much better trained than the squad because I have the time and the inclination.
But we don't do that to people. We don't look for the next father and hope and pray that he will be as good as the father before him.
We don't go through the process of acquiring new parents and training them as hard as their predecessors to be polite, kind, and encouraging.
Therefore, the grieving process for our dogs and our people is completely different.
I know I will never get over my father's death, but I don't have to. And I really don't want to. He will forever remain in my mind as the same person he always was. He will always be my father. In my memory, there is no one new to degrade or change him. There is no need to compare him with others. And I never do.
But Scud, like all much-loved, lost dogs, posed a dilemma for me and my family. She was replaceable. Simply put, you can always pick up another dog and start fresh. You can look for another individual of a similar type, gender, breed, or you can choose to change it completely (in the case of a Scud, a little sanity is all you need).
And then, after a while, I kind of did something. And they are so different from her that we don't really make meaningless comparisons.
And then there's friction. What if you think you'll never get another dog as good as your last one? What if you feel like you're turning your back on years of memories when you bring home a new puppy? ?
What if you think you need to wait another week, month, or year before you're ready? What if you make a mistake and get the wrong dog?
However, life is all about “what if”. I think I prefer “Why not?”
