a period of adjustment

I don’t understand why the house is so much quieter with Lucie gone. I can’t remember the last time she barked or even growled. I would hear her shifting around sometimes in the chair in Ben’s room or hear her tags rattling when she shook off, but that was about it. She didn’t jump down anymore or click off to the kitchen to get a big, noisy drink of water. She hadn’t chased around with Rufus or fought over a toy with him in a very long time. And yet, it is so quiet here now.

Ben says it is because she was such a big personality in such a tiny package. Once Julie left, Lucie was pretty much in charge around here. We all wanted to know, what is Lucie doing right now? We frequently searched the house until we found where she lay napping. It is hard not to do that now. Rufus still does it. Yesterday I saw him sniffing very carefully at her leash where I had left it lying on a bench in the kitchen. I removed it, but found him sniffing at the same spot later in the day.

Rufus has always been a clingy dog, but it seems to me like he sticks closer than ever to me right now. And that’s okay. His little world has been turned upside down, and he really doesn’t know what could happen next. Our job is to make sure it is something good.

Does that mean a new puppy is on the horizon? Well, sure, probably. But I am surprised to find that I don’t want one right now. It seems right that the house should be strangely quiet. We have lost our tiny dictator. We have lost our little love. That needs to be recognized and accepted. Then we can move on. Then we can fill the house with the all noise and energy and excitement that a new puppy will bring. We’ll know when that time comes. We’ll be ready for it.