Personal essays
When there is no dog
Getting up
When Kim died, Annabelle, our Black Lab / German Shorthair mix, tried to scoot up and put her head on Kim’s pillow beside me.
“No,” I said sternly, though I was past caring, and she moved back to her place at the foot of the bed.
She’d test me now and then but the answer was the same. This little tiny area of my life was mine to control.
Each morning around six, Annabelle would stretch and shake herself awake and wander over and stand over me.
“OK,” I said, and got out of bed and went down and let her out.
She’d come back inside and head towards her food hoping that today I’d forget and feed her early.
“No,” I’d say sternly, though it would be easy to give in, and I moved to the couch and picked up my laptop and scroll aimlessly through the posts I’d missed since falling asleep.
Annabelle would sigh, loudly, and climb into her chair and nap for an hour or so.
Throughout the day
I’d look up from my computer when I heard Annabelle stretch and get down from the chair making the same sort of noises that I do when I sit down or stand up.
She’d come over to remind me it was now time for breakfast. I’d get her food and make a cup of coffee and the day would officially begin.
About once an hour Annabelle would come over to the couch and nudge me. She wanted attention. I would stand up and toss a ball or take her out to the backyard.
I’d say I was doing it for her - but it probably did me as much good as it did her.
I’d leave the house to meet a friend for coffee. When I came back, she’d greet me as if I’d been gone for a month.
If I was teaching over Zoom I’d tell them that we were going to break at five. Sure enough, at five Annabelle would stand expectantly in front of me and then walk towards her food.
If I wasn’t right behind her she’d pop back in and look at me and, I swear, give me a little head twist that says “c’mon, follow me.”
I’d stand, get her food, and look up - but she’d be gone.
As soon as she was certain I had a cup filled with her food she’d run to the kitchen and stand in front of her dish.
I’d add the food to her dish and say, “wait.”
She’d stand waiting with her tail wagging back and forth until I said, “ok” and then she’d dive into her food like it wasn’t the same dry food she’d been eating twice a day for years.
I’d let her out and back in and start prepping dinner. She’d wander back and forth as I cut the vegetables and started cooking. She wanted to be there in case I accidentally dropped something or tossed her the end of whatever I was cutting.
And then
We spent most evenings like an old married couple. She sat in her chair, I sat in mine. I watched television with my laptop open half paying attention to each.
At some point she’d come over to let me know she needed to go outside.
She’d come back in and head up stairs. It was time for bed.
Some nights I’d shrug and follow. Other nights I’d go back to my chair and finish a show or whatever I was working on.
I’d take one more trip around the downstairs - check that the stove was off, turn the heat down for the night, turn off all of the lights, and head upstairs.
Annabelle shaped my day.
She didn’t change the fact that Kim was dead but she got me out of bed in the morning, got me to stand up now and then throughout the day, and reminded me to go to bed at night and not just fall asleep in my chair in front of the television.
A couple of months later Trump was elected.
It was awful.
Annabelle didn’t want to talk about it.
She just wanted me to get out of bed in the morning, get off the couch throughout the day, and go to bed at night.
And now
I don’t want you to think that Annabelle wasn’t there for me.
When she came to get me off the couch she would nuzzle against me affectionately and I would pet her and we would play a bit.
She kept me from being too serious.
“Daniel,” you say, “come on - she was a dog.”
She was.
I didn’t love her like I love and loved other people - but I did love her as a person loves a dog.
And then she died.
It’s years later and I still remember sitting holding her as she fell asleep as the vet prepared to put her down.
I came home to an empty house and the next morning I got out of bed without her urging me to.
I got up from the couch throughout the day - nearly hourly.
I met friends for coffee and came home to an empty house that somehow didn’t feel empty.
I noticed when it was dinner time and stood to prepare my dinner.
I closed my computer at the end of the day and went upstairs to bed.
I did all of these things even though there was no dog.
This week Trump was elected again.
It’s important that you connect and reconnect with others to remind yourself that you’re not doing this alone. After meeting friends for coffee, when I come home to an empty house, somehow it doesn’t feel empty.
Annabelle is gone. Kim is gone.
These reasons for me getting up and doing what needs to be done seem to be gone.
And yet I have found new reasons.
You. You are one of the reasons I keep getting up.
Find your new reasons.
Find the reasons to get out of bed in the morning, to get off the couch to do things, to make sure you are nourished, and to complete your day.
Rekindle your faith in whatever it is and keep on keeping on.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 242. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe