One week without him

Turns out, pet grief is as complex as everyone told me...

Wednesday was the first day I didn’t cry.

Instead of sobbing into the hoodie I was wearing a week ago, I sat and felt guilty for not crying.

Luckily, I didn’t have that problem today.

I went to drop something off at my mum and dad’s, and for the first time since it happened, no one was home.

On a Thursday, when it was just the two of us, he didn’t always hear me come in. You see, at 13, he’d gone a little deaf, so I’d call out to him.

I don’t know why I did it. I can only compare it to picking a fresh scab, you know the blood will come, but the curiosity is still too much.

“Dex”, I shouted. “Dexter”.

There was no busy pitter patter of paws, no big stretch and no one to sniff the cheese and onion crisp crumbs I’d just wiped down my trousers.

But I knew that, because a week ago he died and even at 38, losing a beloved pet is, well, complex.

I don’t have the drive to write a tribute post to Dexter and let’s be honest, it’s not like he could read it anyway. Just writing those first paragraphs has given me enough tears for the evening.

But, when I share the intamacies of my life and womb lining with you all on here, it feels only right that my little dog has his own bookmark.

Thank you for everything, Dexter. You’ll always be with me.