A gray and quiet mourning

The holidays are over.  My husband has returned to work, my son is at school.  It is a cold, rainy January morning and the house is too quiet.   Our two cats occasionally make an appearance wanting food or affection, but their movements are, for the most part, without noise.   Gone are the familiar sounds of my constant companion of nearly 11 years and as the saying goes, “The silence is deafening.”

On December 12, 2008, we lost our much-loved dachshund, Reeses Sugarbaby Posey-Davidson.  Funny name for a funny dog.   We loved this little creature from the moment my boys and I spotted him.  When we brought him home from the kennel at 6 weeks old, he was so tiny we called him a living Beanie Baby.   If you’ve ever been owned by a wiener dog, you know that they are impossibly stubborn.  You also know it’s impossible to not love one.    Reeses loved his humans and hated change.  He would leave his….er……umm…..”mark” of disapproval anytime his boys were away.  Every day he’d leave a little sign, so to speak, until they finally returned home.

He disliked car rides but loved taking walks, especially where there were crowds of people who inevitably wanted to pet and adore him.  I have to laugh whenever I think of all the times we were out and people [of all ages - not just children] would wave and say, “Hey, weiner dog!”   I feel sure God must have chuckled on the day He created dachshunds.

I still cannot get used to the idea that I am no longer a dog owner.  Admittedly, my schedule is a little lighter now – no more 5:30 am wake up calls from the crate, no late nights standing outside in the cold while Reeses searched for the perfect spot.  Our pet food and vet bills should decrease substantially.  No need to hide every trash can in the house from the garbage bandit.   Life is a bit easier.  So why does this seem so hard?  

My ears play tricks on me.   In the morning,  I expect the funny sound of his ears flapping as he shook himself awake.  I’m sure I hear the jingling of his tags throughout the day.  Whenever the refrigerator door is opened, I wait for the click-clacking of his nails as he rushes in to investigate whatever treat might fall his way.   If there is a knock at the door or a car horn outside, I have to stop myself from saying “hush” to barks that no longer echo through the room. 

I used have a little saying – “No one can be sad in the presence of a wiener dog.”  Oh but how sad it is when that presence is gone.  Rest in peace, sweet little Reeses.

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