My dog Abby turned 15 this month. She’s actually my Mom’s dog, but came to live with me after Mom passed away. Even though I either lived with Mom or lived just a few blocks away since Abby was a baby, and she already knew my dogs & cat very well, it’s been hard on her. She was definitely Mom’s dog, heart and soul. They’d been together for 13+ years and since Mom was retired, she was home, with Abby, most of the time. Abby was Mom’s shadow.
It’s been almost 18 months since Mom’s been gone and it’s been very difficult for Abby. At 15 years old, she’s obviously no spring chicken, and although she settled in here pretty quickly she went downhill after Mom was gone. And now it seems life has caught up with her and that we’ll be saying goodbye to her fairly soon as well.
Abby has some health problems but the specifics aren’t really the issue. She’s old, and ultimately that’s what will take her from us. I dearly love Abby and it’s going to be extremely painful to say goodbye. I’ll be losing a very dear friend, and in a way, losing a bit of Mom all over again. I know she’s still grieving for Mom though and I keep telling myself that they’ll finally be together again (yes, I do believe that!) which will be a happy occasion for both of them. But even though I know that, it’s still painful.
So for whatever time Abby still has with us, I’ll pamper her, care for her, and do whatever I can to make her comfortable. Mom asked me to take care of Abby after she was gone, and that’s just what I’m doing…not just because Mom asked, but because Abby is family, and I love her dearly.
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Off to go get a kleenex to blow my nose…
Hi Therese
Gosh…it’s been too long since I’ve visited your site. My condolances for your mom. I can only wonder what goes through a pets mind after losing a lifetime human companion? Do they take it harder than we do?
Abby is in the best of hands at your house thank goodness!
Thanks, Jimmy…both for the condolences and for the compliment.
I do think it depends on the dog how they take someone’s death. My Dad’s dog, Hobo (the one that ate the crayons), continued to lay by the back door and wait for Dad every night – at the time he’d come home for work. I know he grieved for Dad for a long, long time.