Goodbye

Sad.

Sad sad sad, saddity saddity sad.

My dog has just passed away.

I’d said my goodbyes when I was home earlier this year. She was old and I thought that I might not see her again. So I gave her extra kisses and cuddles, breathed in her doggy scent, and told her that I loved her before I walked out the door. Then I turned around and went back for more.

But as it turns out, that was nowhere near enough. I want to hold her and weep, I want to kiss her and thank her for being my dog, for being the silly little sausage who always fell for the same trick where I hid and sprang out at her when she least expected it. Thirteen years but I want more. More photos, more cuddles, more sneaky licks to my face while I’m sleeping.

So here I am now, sobbing like a little schoolgirl.

“There, there,” Badger tries to comfort me. He pulls me into a hug.

I let myself be cuddled, but then start to panic because what if I forget how my dog used to smell? I bawl louder at the thought of this and bury my face in Badger’s chest.

And get distracted trying to make a tear-face imprint on his shirt à la Edward Norton on Meatloaf in Fight Club.

But it doesn’t work. I’m crying so much that all I make is a big soggy mess. I can’t even craft a symbolic representation of my grief. God, I feel wretched.

Badger flutters around for a bit, hovering anxiously because it looks like I might just drown in my own tears. He isn’t quite sure what to do. But then he leaves the room and returns with a Magnum.

I hiccup a thank you and manage to stop crying long enough to cram the ice cream in my mouth. But it’s no use. I see reminders of my dog everywhere I look, and the waterworks start again. Dachshund keychain, dachshund stuff toys, dachshund stencil on my drawers…I’m even reading a book with a one-legged dachshund on the cover! And oh god, when I get to the office tomorrow, I’ll be confronted with my dog’s picture, dachshund post-it notes and dachshund mousepad. I begin to regret having turned into the sausage dog equivalent of a crazy cat lady.

Badger promises to get me KFC for dinner. I think he is hoping that my love for fried chicken will distract me. But it’s no use. I know that I’ll sob into it just like I did earlier with the ice cream. At least the chicken is meant to taste salty.

I thought I was ready for this. But I’m not.

"You're being so ridiculous that I'm going to have to ignore you."

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