The the photo at left is from Jake’s fourteenth birthday last year, and what strikes me about it is that he’s as subdued as Sunny was in the photo on what turned out to be her last birthday, her twelfth. That’s coincidence—it was often not easy to capture a photo of either unless they were laying down. However, both were unwell when I took their last birthday photos, and both were already in their final decline, so capturing a subdued moment was probably most likely for both.
Over the past three years, I’ve endured a constant parade of loss, what I referred to in February last year as “a Danse Macabre”. The first to leave was Bella, a loss I was really sad about. Then Nigel’s death ripped everything apart, especially me. Sunny stayed with us nearly a year and a half afterward, and Jake left about seven months after her. Throw a global pandemic into this mix, and sometimes even I’m amazed—or shocked, sometimes—that I’ve managed to survive.
All of this loss has definitely held me back and made it impossible to truly move forward, or to find a new life without Nigel. So, when I say I’m stubborn, I’m absolutely not joking, as the evidence of my continued existence proves.
But I do miss Jake. And Sunny. And Bella. And, obviously, Nigel most of all. I think Leo does, too, and that’s been on my mind lately.
Leo still sniffs Sunny and Jake’s collars, Sunny’s especially (they were best friends), but recently something odd happened: He started standing at the baby gate I put up to keep the dogs from running to the front door. Then, he’d cry softly, the same way he does when his ball rolls under the sofa, or when he wants to go outside. But there was nothing in the entryway that was even remotely related to any of that, and I hadn’t changed anything in that area for months. What was up?
I lifted Leo up and let him sniff around, but he didn’t seem fixated on any one thing. That didn’t stop his crying, so I again carried him to the entryway. I had him sniff the harness I bought for him, something I hung on the coat tree in the entryway. Maybe he’d seen it, I thought, but he wasn’t remotely interested—but he still wanted something.
The only thing I could see was another dog lead, the one I used to take Jake to the vet the day before he died, though I could've used it for Sunny at some point, too (I had two that were identical, so I probably mixed them up frequently, for all I know). Was that it? It’s been there since that day last September—why now?!
I had no other ideas, so I took the lead into the house and put it on a low shelf where Leo could sniff it—and he now does that several times a week, sometimes several times in a day. He also hasn’t cried at that gate even once since I put the lead within sniffing distance.
Then yesterday, another oddity: I was in the bedroom folding washing, and Leo was there—until he disappeared. I walked past the door to the en suite and saw Leo in there, staring at the toilet roll holder.
For many years, right up until many of her teeth were removed, Sunny used to steal the toilet toll from the holder and pull out the cardboard core, which she’d eat (she never ate the paper, but she left a shredded paper mess for us to clean up). Nigel and I started putting the toilet roll on the cistern when we went out, but Sunny still tried to get it. To stop that, we put empty cores on the floor below the toilet roll holder, which Sunny would grab and chew up. I dubbed it her “tasty, tasty snack”, and Nigel and both thought it was weird behaviour, but funny.
A little while after I’d caught Leo looking at the toilet roll, and thought about how odd it was that he did that, I remembered Sunny and her tasty, tasty snacks. Leo then walked into the en suite, and he looked again at the toilet roll holder. I had an empty toilet roll core that I hadn’t yet put into the recycling bin, and I gave it to Leo, who grabbed it and ran to the front of the house, tail happily wagging.
Before Sunny got sick, she and Leo both got toilet roll cores—Jake was never the least bit interested. However, Leo’s shown no interest in them ever since Sunny could no longer chew the cores and they both stopped getting them.
Again, why now? Why not months ago? And what was up with the toilet roll core obsession yesterday? I don’t know, of course, but I wonder if maybe he’s mourning Sunny and Jake. I know the feeling, obviously, so it’s logical to think I could be projecting; I just don’t think I am.
All of that’s been on my mind the past few days, starting with thinking about Jake and his birthday, and on to all the thoughts that go with that. Mainly, I just miss the family I lost, and I really do feel that Leo does, too. Jake’s birthday is what sparked all these thoughts for me, and while I have no certainty about what’s sparked Leo’s recent behaviour, mourning is as plausible an explanation as any. It’s also good for both of us that we still have each other.
Related posts:
Jake is 14 – What turned out to be his last birthday
Jake is 13
Jake is 12
Jake is 11
Jake is TEN
Jake is 9
Jake is 8
Jake is 7
Jake is 6
Jake turns 5
Jake is four
Jake turns three
Jake’s Birthday 2-day
Jake is one year old!
A new arrival
All posts mentioning Jake
2 comments:
animals and mourning. certainly seems plausible.
I think so. For 40,000+ years, dogs and humans have, you might say, co-existed, living a pretty much symbiotic existence. It makes sense to me that their emotions would evolve over time, even if for no other reason than humans would've favoured such an attribute when breeding their companions.
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