Grief Has No Timetable

It's been five weeks since we said goodbye to our Tinker, but at times it feels like it just happened yesterday. Both of us have ups and downs in remembering good times, bad times, missing him and our Virginia, and the pain and sadness just doesn't want to go away. Sure, there is laughter and smiles, but it's a rough emotional Olympics.

Getting a new dog wouldn't relieve the pain. It apparently works for some people, but not the two of us. It's not like stitching up a wound. Right now that wound is open and painful. Sure, there are things we can do outside of the house that we haven't been able to in years. But coming home and not being greeted by "Mr Happy Go Lucky" and getting licked on the nose leaves a large hole in our lives.

We pet and hug and play with every dog we come across where we live and anywhere else we run into a person with a dog...or a dog with a person.

Tinker's ashes and locks of hair sit in a box within a bag on our fireplace mantle. We haven't touched it since we brought it home about a month ago. We don't want to deal with it. There are some things we have donated to rescue people we know, but the gate to the front door still stands at attention. All of the beds and several of Tinker's plush buddies still sit stacked on the living room floor waiting for when we will be able to move them. We'll keep some and donate some. It's doubtful that any will get tossed out.

The bed is gone from our room. That was one of the first things we were able to do early on, as well as moving the downstairs beds so they were no longer trip hazards. His big crate and his travel crate still sit near the living room steps to the bottom floor.

His picture (above) is still the wallpaper on our desktop computer. Seeing him makes me happy and sad all in the same breath. Speaking of breath, I miss that distinctive Tinkie breath. A musky odor that some would find unpleasant, but to us it was like lavender or berries; especially when you smelled it while he was licking your nose.

I feel like a train wreck; sad, unhappy, anxious...and C has her issues with her grief. When we lost Virginia it hurt like hell, but we had Tinker to walk, hug, kiss, play with and distract us. Now, there is no furry little one waiting around to ease our pain. I do find some temporary relief from a little dog that knows what I need. I re-injured my back right before we lost Tink and so I have been going for PT. The owner has a sweet little Sheltie, who just knows. When I pet her, while coming or going, she licks me on the nose like our boy did. If that's not a message I don't know what is.

We miss you so much Tinkie. We hope you and Virginia are running and playing, and feeling so good. We <3 you both.