Missing unconditional love

I suppose it’s when you wake up and have that feeling something’s missing. The house is too quiet. No one’s waiting outside the bathroom door when you finish or wagging their tail when you enter a room. Maybe it’s when you see a water bowl full of water, or a small bed beside the couch with soft blankets and no one to keep warm anymore. Or maybe it’s when you find a bit of hidden food somewhere under a pillow. Maybe it’s when you find a “spot” on a rug somewhere or a food bowl untouched.

We lost Hannah, the female Maltese the other day and these were the times she was missed. I left out the doggie diapers, hung in the washroom that sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. And the barking whenever I’d come home for lunch and she knew a piece of cheese was not too far away, or the eyes looking up at me on the couch that said, “Where’s my piece?”

She only weighed about eight pounds but was the queen of the house for more than 10 years, protecting us from “strangers,” basically anyone coming to the door. She demanded your attention when she needed it and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

They say Maltese are known for their barking ability and she was for sure a Maltese. I sure do miss that little dog. We buried her out back with what has become a pet cemetery of sorts with several other dogs, a bird, rabbit and one cat whose name was Tom. I suppose that’s one of the nice things about homeownership, you can bury loved ones on the grounds, in the woods, away from cars driving too fast with drivers devoid of the empathy required to stop and say one of your family has been taken away. But I digress.

She took her last breath in my wife’s arms on a sunny afternoon last week. She just got old and tired, as they say. Still warm when I got there I marveled at how this still, small, beautiful creature could have brought so much love into our home. Life, precious no matter what form it takes, leaves in an instant. With a last breath, those of us left to mourn are reminded of how special it is. And so it was with Hannah, who left us with unanswered questions.

After all, this wasn’t just a dog. Who barks at the vacuum cleaner? Who chases the garbage can down the driveway? Who growls at Sunnie, the rescue dog? And who will run to greet people walking down the street? Who will enjoy the fireplace in winter and the sun on the deck in spring? Who keeps us warm on the couch and who barks at the doorbell when it rings? Who licks our hand in thanks and wags their tail no matter what the day brings?

My wife says no more pets. I don’t know. As painful as these days have been, with grief coming in waves each time an event is remembered, somehow it’s worth it. The experience of holding a puppy in one’s hand, watching it grow and enjoy life, even as a dog, makes it worth it. The unconditional love we receive from dogs is one of the beautiful things about being human. We can see the love, feel it and return it by taking care of those who need us.

Will we get another dog? I just don’t know. Time will help — and right now we need some time and space between losing someone that came to mean more than what she was; just a dog.

Some of us get it and those who don’t, miss out on an opportunity to receive unconditional love — a rare event indeed. Will we get another dog? I just don’t know.

This story was originally published May 10, 2016 at 10:00 PM with the headline "Missing unconditional love."