That first coffee after you lose your dog

When I found out I was going to be off on Monday and Tuesday this week, I was grateful. We planned to put Acer down this afternoon, so I was glad I was going to have the day to spend with him and the following day to get my head right before going back to work. But situations changed and we ended up putting him Sunday around noon.

It rained all day yesterday. On the trip to the vet, the trip to Jacque's, the whole time we were burying him. The entire afternoon and evening while Brian talked on the phone and I kept fighting waves of "It's fine" and "He's gone."

This morning I slept in a little, but when I got up there was still a tug to go let him out of his kennel so he could go out from the back of my mind. As I'm trying to figure out breakfast, something in the back of my mind kept saying "You should see if he wants to eat anything this morning." Unloading the dishwasher I kept expecting to turn around and have him standing right in my way.

It's always so much harder than I think it will be.

I'm at the dining table, listening to music, drinking coffee and typing. I hesitated to plug in my tablet because he would trip over the cord if he tried to get by it.

Part of me is clawing to get another dog. Something to fill the empty kennel in the living room and missing part of my damn life. But I know I need to process this first. I need to gather up Acer's things, sort out what belongs to us and what goes back to the rescue to help another animal. I want to go through photos to make a collage to go under the one that features Grace.

I also just want to not be in the house today. Normally I don't at all mind being home all day. I play music, clean the kitchen, watch TV, cook  things, plan for the week, and am just generally productive  while also relaxing myself. But today it seems empty and cold in here. Lonely. My buddy in all these tasks is gone.

I'm also aware that I'm doing some serious self-indulgence with this post. I don't know how else to vent this stupid sadness that wells up in my throat when I'm not expecting it.

He was old, but he was loyal. He was always there. He just wanted to help however he thought he could. I'd love to trip over him just one more time.