It is hard to put into words just how much a pet means to you.

There are pet people and there are non pet people. As a pet person I know I always assume that you aren’t a pet person until you prove otherwise. Even people who have pets sometimes aren’t real pet people, so I wait for a story. I need to hear a story about how your cat puked inside your favorite shoes and you didn’t realize it until you were running out the door, and slipped your foot inside your shoe, and you, laughing, were so late for work! Or how you brought a boy to your house for the first time only to find, upon opening the front door, that your dog had pooped all over your living room. Laughing.

Or how you are always covered with hair!

Or how your cat just knows when you are upset. How she does her own thing until you’ve had a bad day at work and then she doesn’t leave you alone.

Or how your dog helps you get out of bed in the morning and go for that run you never want to take.

Or how you are so sad because your dog died.

Oliver

Oliver

I’m sitting in New Wave all teary, because I know that if I were at home I would just be crying and doing nothing . So I’m here, looking like a crazy person, probably, because Oliver died.

It is amazing how much we love our animals. My family got Oliver when I was 13. He has been a part of my life for over half of it. And he died. And part of me feels very silly for sitting in New Wave crying about a dog, but that is just the part of me playing to the people who didn’t grow up with animals. Who don’t have a dog or cat at home. Who don’t know what it’s like to love and be loved by a dog.

But for the rest of us: God it sucks. Because you can’t tell them how much you love them before they die, you just have to hope they know. And you can’t explain to your other animals where their brother went. And you want to apologize for being so sad because, sure, he is ‘just a dog’, but he isn’t just a dog. He was there every time you came home and was happier than anyone will ever be to see you. He protected you while you slept, and, no matter how sweet he was to you, he would kill anyone who tried to get into your house.

We made pickles together.

We hung out together while everyone else was working.

He sneaks his cute face into many pictures.

I’m not going to make it back to Michigan until Thanksgiving. I know that, despite all the people and all the other animals, it is going to feel so lonely. And I’ll probably get killed by an intruder. And my brother Matthew will have to carry all the wood to the fire pit by himself because Oliver won’t be there to help. And Papa will be terrible at cards because he lost his good luck charm.

… now I’m just torturing myself. I’m going to go home, cuddle my kitties, and make some pancakes.

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