20 ways to miss your Rover

… or, in this case, your Bella.

I was thinking recently about all of the things – both little and not-so-little – that have changed around here since we lost Bella in May. Sometimes it seems like I’m surrounded by a thousand tiny reminders on any given day.

Loosely inspired by this song, here are twenty (out of countless) ways I miss my Bella:

  1. Every morning, I wake up to the sight of an empty dog bed. I can’t quite bring myself to move it.
  2. I haven’t moved her food dish either.
  3. My morning routine has changed. I’d gotten used to spending at least thirty minutes cajoling Bella into eating her breakfast.
  4. There’s no one in the blanket cave that Bella liked to hide in.
  5. In fact, I washed the blanket in question and put it in the linen closet.
  6. The nights are different too. It’s quiet without her nightly cave to bed migration.
  7. I miss her snoring. It was loud, yet so comforting.
  8. It’s weird to walk by the front door and not see her watching the world go by.
  9. Tavish has been spending less time staring through those windows as well.
  10. Every time I vacuum, I feel a little sad. With each pass, I’m removing more Bella hair that will never be replenished.
  11. For that reason, I didn’t even try to vacuum for the first month.
  12. When I finally did vacuum, I couldn’t stop thinking about the time(s) Bella left a toy in front of the vacuum as her own form of protest. We (perhaps inappropriately) called it her Tiananmen Square move.
  13. My stairs are curiously clear of furry obstacles.
  14. I miss helping Bella go up and down the stairs.
  15. My kitchen seems empty too. I keep avoiding Bellas that are no longer camped out waiting for food to fall from the sky.
  16. I’m falling out of practice with regard to all of those hand signals.
  17. Tavish seems to spend a lot more time licking the humans in the house.
  18. Sometimes I wonder if that’s because his usual kissing target isn’t available now.
  19. Working in the yard is weird too. She always loved to supervise (aka nap in the flower beds) while we puttered around.
  20. I really, really, really miss my Bella hugs.
Beautiful Bella via wantmorepuppies.com

How I miss that sweet and silly face…

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I’m getting mutton for Christmas

These past few weeks, I’ve found myself revisiting some of my favorite Bella memories. Remembering all of her wonderful quirks makes me smile, even if that smile is often (okay, always) through some tears. In any event, I thought I’d share a few of these as I try to get back into the blog.

Today’s tale has it all – mystery, comedy… and even MURDER.

It was a cold night. Presents were stacked under the unlit Christmas tree. In the corner of my mother-in-law’s living room, a ceramic assembly gathered around an empty crib, quietly awaiting the arrival of the porcelain Savior. Faux-human and faux-animal alike, they patiently kept watch, anticipating the moment that the giant hand would place the baby in the miniature manger.  Distracted by the imminent miracle, they failed to notice that one of their own was missing.

He wasn’t the fanciest sheep, nor the prettiest one. In fact, they never knew how he became a part of the flock. He was always there, but he was undeniably different. The leader of the flock accepted him without question, and the others followed like… well, like sheep. (Just calling ’em like I see ’em.)

That fateful night, the plastic sheep found himself separated from the ceramic flock. As he faced down the giant she-beast, he knew that he would not see the Nativity storage container ever again. Although she did not usually devour miniature figurines, his plastic scent was too much to resist that night.

Later, in the harsh light of Christmas morning, the crime scene revealed itself. Crumbs of plastic sheep littered the manger. It didn’t take a world-class detective to discover the culprit – after all, the small brown and white dog happily pooping out pieces of plastic sheep didn’t seem too ashamed of her heinous act.

Bella's Mugshot - wantmorepuppies.com

The face of a smooth criminal…

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Pupdate: I’m still here

Hello, my friends.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. I haven’t really felt all that much like blogging since I said goodbye to Bella. (Some days, I haven’t felt like doing much of anything.) However, please know that I read every single one of your comments on my last blog post. Your kind words touched my heart and meant a great deal to me during the past few weeks.

Bella kiss via wantmorepuppies.com

A smooch for a pooch.

I do plan to talk more about what we’ve been doing and how we’ve been adjusting here at Casa de I Still Want More Puppies. I want to give Bella a proper farewell on the blog as well, but I haven’t figured out what that means yet. How do I say goodbye? How do I celebrate her?

I was profoundly moved by the way that our friends at Kenzo the Hovawart and Will My Dog Hate Me said farewell to Viva and Frankie, respectively. I want to find an appropriate and meaningful way to say goodbye on this blog as well. I’m hoping that it will also help me as I navigate my way forward.

With that in mind, I’ll probably be playing it a bit by ear for a little while. I have some serious things on my mind (obviously), but I’m going to try to mix those in with regular blog posts, photos of Tavish (because his furry face is good for what ails me), and (if I can manage it) some humor. We’ll see how it goes as I ease back into this whole blogging thing. Stay tuned…

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The unbearable absence of Bella

This post is one I can’t believe I have to write. Today, our family said goodbye to Bella. We kissed this sweet face farewell, and life will never be the same.

Goodbye Bella

Goodnight, sweet pup.

We have been managing her kidney disease for over two years now, but – after a very difficult weekend – we had to face the reality that her condition had deteriorated rapidly in the past few days. It was time to let her go.

I don’t quite know what else to say. I find myself suffocated by her absence. Everywhere I look, I see where she is not. I’m not quite me without her.

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