I have not written in this space in quite a while. In fact, I allowed the entire mid-term election season to pass with not so much as a peep in this space, which seems odd given my nature as a political junkie.
My only explanation is that the death of my Dad back in April seemed to knock the wind out of me. I wrote about him at the time--about watching him die. But I never returned to contemplate his actual death or the river of emotions that followed. I just did not feel like writing after Dad died because everything else seemed so small compared to him.
This week I have had to contend with the premature death of my canine friend Duncan, whom I had to put down on November 1. Duncan was only eight years old--he was my 40th birthday gift back in 2002. While I am not placing Duncan's death on the same level as the death of my Father, the emotions I have felt this week have taken my mind back to the acute pain I felt when Dad died.
I am tired of death. I am tired of dealing with the sadness and pain.
My daughter took the photo above. Duncan is lying in Emily's bed with his legs wrapped around Tierney, Emily's favorite stuffed animal. Duncan LOVED to sleep in human beds. He would walk around the bed and scratch at the covers before finding the perfect spot. Then he would manage to occupy a space out of all proportion to his rather modest 25 pound body. Once he found the spot, he would hardly move until the Sun arose the next morning.
And Duncan loved to chase squirrels. If a squirrel crossed his path while he was outside, there was no stopping him as he dashed off to chase it up a tree. And boy would he ever be proud of himself afterwards. If no real squirrels were available, he was happy to chase stuffed plush squirrels, of which he owned several.
Anyone who has ever owned a pet has had to suffer the pain of the day when the pet dies. And most every pet owner regards his or her pet as just the best pet ever, I imagine. But Duncan was truly special. He was the sweetest little dog I have ever known. I miss him.
