I thought about Lucas last night.
I’m not sure what triggered it, but–seemingly suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere–my fingers ached to dig into the thick, fluffy fur around his neck. And, oh, it hit hard when I realized I couldn’t quite remember how it felt anymore.
“Grief changes shape, but it never ends. […] People have a misconception that you can deal with it and say, ‘It’s gone, and I’m better.’ They’re wrong.” — Keanu Reeves
And, I suppose, grief is what triggered my thoughts about Lucas, though it came from an unexpected place:
Ease.
Joy.
Calm.
I’ve been feeling so grateful for Penny lately. She is one of the extremely rare go-anywhere, do-anything dogs. She loves walking the aisles at Lowe’s on a busy Saturday. She adores long walks in the woods and never tries to chase a squirrel or harass another dog off the trail. She waits patiently while strangers ask a million questions about her disabilities, and she even likes riding in the car to pick up the girls from school.
Penny isn’t perfect. She’s super quirky (have you been following along with her Whimzees weirdness on Insta?) and she’s recently discovered how much she enjoys chewing up Barbies and dollhouse accessories.
But she’s easy.
She’s joyful.
She’s full of a calm, quiet energy that accepts things as they are.
I can walk her without a constant sense of dread and hypervigilance. I can leave the curtains open and know she won’t lose her mind barking out the window at… anything. I can trust her to meet people and animals without planning an escape route.
I feel such gratitude for all those traits every single day. It’s all so easy with her, but that makes it hard. The ease comes with pangs of guilt that probably stem from grief.
It’s not that I didn’t love Lucas or Cooper this much. Of course I did. And, also, they were so hard. They were so often dysregulated, and they required so much effort from me all the time. Physical, emotional, mental effort. All the while, Penny is just easy. And then I feel bad for being grateful for this ease because it feels like I’m diminishing or tarnishing the boys’ memory.
Oh, how I love Penny. She’s a miraculous puppy. I feel bad being grateful for the characteristics that make her different because it makes me feel guilty for implying that she’s “better,” when that’s not the case.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking in circles on this and so wanted to share. I have a small section in one chapter of my forthcoming book, FOR THE LOVE OF DOG, where I explore grief and the science of how our dogs grieve.
But I’d love to know in the comments below: Does anyone else fall into these weird traps? I’m not alone in this, am I?
If you enjoyed this post, you’ll probably enjoy my forthcoming book, For the Love of Dog, from Regalo Press in 2025. It’s chock full of the latest research in canine cognition combined with stories of my dogs to bring the data to life. To stay up-to-date on the latest with my publication news, please join the mailing list or follow along on Instagram. I’d love to connect with you more!
