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we spent a lot of time together, she and i. it was obvious that she was always going to be overshadowed by the big guy, he and i came along at the same time. she was already house trained and through the puppy years when i met her. but she followed me around anyway. sat butt to butt on drop cloth while i painted trim when we first moved. sometimes on my feet while i was sitting on the toilet. on the rare occasion i crawled into bed because of a headache, or something sad and upsetting had happened, i would hear a clackety clack of toenails on hardwood, and she would hop up on the bed and back her butt up into my leg and just sit there quietly and wait, whatever it was, out with me.

as i write this, i realize that i am still wearing the same pyjamas; when she was in my arms, running out to the car at 1am. trembling, drooling- not her. we were both scared.

the duvet is still covered with her fur, there are little piles of it that have collected in the corners of the room. the cleaning lady is coming tomorrow- soon they will be gone. no more sharp hairs to get lodged in the sole of my foot, no need for tweezers.

people 'check up' on you, 'check in'. they want to know how you're doing, how today went, if you're managing. the ones who haven't lost a pet yet, don't. they can't "go there", i get it. i didn't either. the answer should be "better", "today was a better day", "i'm doing better than yesterday". but it's not...better. it's a 'process', i get that too. i've acquired a new lexicon; 'rainbow bridge'. it's not for the people, 'who cant go there'. they don't need to.

it's a day made up of small things- it's always the small things. quiet meal times; dropping food on the floor that now stays there, waiting to be picked up by me; automatically leaving the bedroom door cracked for middle of the night 'diabetes bladder' breaks. things i don't think of until they happen, without her. then i notice her absence. and what her presence was.

i have broken up with my routine. i don't want to go home; to a quieter house. no welcoming committee circling the car and demanding to be fed before i can even turn off the engine. i have no interest in sitting on 'my chair', it was never just mine. i don't want to go to bed, because there's no one trying to beat me up the stairs. when i take a shower, there's no little blur shuffling around on the other side of the frosted door, making a nest in the dirty clothes pile, waiting.

i want to move. to be; not in the same house, same bed, same couch, same front door. change the location, solve the problem. i know how to do that.

i took her to all of her vet appointments. the routine ones and the 'scary' ones. she and i made a lot of road trips together. down to new hampshire, curled up on my lap to see the surgeon who was going to make her see again, after developing the cataracts. after developing diabetes. 45 miles an hour during a major snowstorm in january for blood transfusions, and another specialist. but like the diabetes, that became stable too. of course it did. this was a dog who, when she went to the park, joined the 'over 25lb' side. despite re-direction from all of the other owners. when their dogs took an interest, she 're-directed' them too.

before her surgery, when her eyes were so bad that she couldn't see a tennis ball, we used cat toys with little bells. she followed the sound. she still got to fetch. after the surgery she was back to chasing flies.

i had a dream this morning, a bad one. it woke me up with images of intruders wielding butcher knives. i get it; anxiety. i couldn't go back to sleep, maybe there were sounds outside. how would i know? the little burglar alarm wasn't there to go off and warn me now.

my eyes sting, my nose is raw and my throat is sore from choking back everything else.

i miss her. i want her back so much. i want to rebound on another rat terrier the way i did with boyfriends in my 20's. and i know i cant.