Some background:
The old dog had died, and it had been very sad. We had recently retired during the summer following our youngest child's graduation from high school. That fall he joined his sister as a student at the University of Georgia. We were finally, after 24 years of kids, (he had two daughters who were 11 and 13 when I married him) empty nesters--well, empty except for a nineteen year old cat and a 14 year old dog.
Then the cat died in the late summer of 2006, and the following spring our old dog Windsor, a big handsome yellow Golden/Malamute mix, died peacefully and quickly late one afternoon of what looked like a heart attack. He was almost 15 years old. That night was one of the saddest and loneliest I have ever known. I remember tearfully saying to my husband that it seemed that all of the joy and purpose had gone out of our lives. He looked at me as if to say "and what am I? Chicken Soup?"
But anyone who has ever loved a pet, especially one who has been a member of the family for YEARS, understands. I had mourned the cat's passing, and as I told several people, I had had that cat longer than we'd had our son. But the cat had been a stray who had wandered up and was NEVER a friendly cat. She refused to be held, tolerated only a little petting before she would spit and hiss, and pretty much just allowed us to feed her--a LOT--especially towards the end when she was diagnosed with renal failure and we were giving her 4-6 cans of the most expensive cat food made (because we thought her days were numbered.) This strategy caused the cat to hang on for at least another full year.
But back to the dog, Windsor. Those first few nights the house seemed so lonely. It also didn't feel very safe, although this idea was ridiculous--there was an alarm system, and besides, the poor dog had been deaf and practically blind. and he had never met a stranger. For weeks we were questioned by neighborhood walkers, the postman, the UPS delivery person--"where was the dog?" and I'd find myself tearing up all over again as I reported that he had died. He was a special dog with ears that faced forward yet flopped over and he wore a continuous puppylike expression. He never barked or jumped up on people, and he was universally liked. His passing left a huge hole.
However, gradually it began to dawn on us that for the first time in our lives we were FREE. No work to go to. No kids at home. No PETS. We could do anything we wanted, whenever we wanted. It took weeks, or maybe even a couple of months, but we adjusted to the quiet and got comfortable with not having to make the evening walk that would ensure no accidents in the night (as Windsor had aged he had developed severe separation anxiety, so he wouldn't go outside and take care of his business. It didn't take many occurrences of him pooping on the playroom carpet for me to learn to make whether or not he had taken care of his business MY business.) We could go out of town for the day easily. If we planned an overnight trip, we simply asked a neighbor to pick up the paper and the mail. Freedom felt good.
