… on missing them, and missing farts


Monty’s corner, from which he held court for nearly 10 years


I’m so glad we’re here together. It means a ton.

Grief, for me, is a little like exercise.

There’s the feeling of impending doom when I know it’s coming.

Acute suffering when the time arrives to first deal with it.

Then it gets a little better, because I’m in the middle of it, and it just is.

Then I think it’s all over, and the very next day I’m not too bad.

But on the second day?



And, with grief, it isn’t in my calves or quads or shoulders.

It’s in the most important muscle of all.

My heart.

Knowing this, I allowed myself to sleep in today, and wallow in those wHierd dreams that come in the morning when you are drifting in and out of sleep.

In one of them, I was being chased by a white monster, and Monty was a reindeer but his antlers were removable.

And you might think that it had some sort of deep meaning, like I’m being chased by death and Monty is with me and, even though he is a reindeer with optional antlers, I have to get us both to safety.


I’ve had Disney’s Frozen playing – over and over again, as sort of a movie version of background music – since Friday. And clearly Frozen has followed me into the subconscious.

In my dream, however, I did not burst into song.

Not once.

But I totally would have.

Except Blaze was whining at my bedroom door.

The Nearly Perfect Husband had woken up early and brought the dogs downstairs. And he had graciously closed the bedroom doors so they wouldn’t come back in and wake me up.

Clearly Blaze interpreted, “Leave Mommy alone” as being “Go make sure all members of the pack are present and accounted for.”

We’re working on her linguistic skills.

So I showered and came downstairs.

I cleaned Monty’s lobster pot and took it up yesterday (His bowl was a lobster pot. We turned the domed lid upside down on top of the pot and it made for a great raised bowl for his big, creaky body.)

It was poignant but not too bad. I did find myself whispering things like, “I hope you are having a blast, big guy” a few times over the course of the day, but I was okay.

This morning I looked at his corner.

The one in the kitchen, behind the table and under the bay window, where he held court every day.

We actually had to repaint the baseboard in his spot last month. He had spent so much time there, it was worn down to the wood.

But he’s holding court somewhere else now, and his empty spot seems to be doing anything and everything to get my attention today.

Moans, screams, a few catcalls…

Sure, I know it’s all in my mind, but I can’t pass by it without looking at it.

So I sat down to write and mentioned to John that it is wHierd to write without having to call to Monty to stop snoring, or to be distracted by his breathing (Monty was the loudest mouth-breather on the planet).

And John agreed.

And then I started to think of all the things that our dogs do that make us absolutely crazy when we aren’t worried about loosing them, but things we miss like crazy – and would give anything to be bothered by again – once they’re gone.

And then my mind began to wander (shocker, I know) and I started to think of Monty, wherever he is, if he processed stuff like a human.

And could, you know, talk.

So his first day, he would have been tired from his trip. Plus he would be getting to know his Joy Angel, and being introduced to the gang. But, I mean, we were his whole world here (except for underwear, socks, and the occasional rock), so he would have probably gotten to day two and missed us a little.

Or a lot.

And he would be lucky, because his Joy Angel would be all over that and it’s, like, Heaven, so he would be able to eat all the socks and underwear he wanted and never have a bellyache again.

So, after eating three or four socks (he was an emotional eater here, so no need to think that’s changed), he probably felt better and went to hang with the other animals – dogs, cats, horses, platypuses , and a cheetah.

And maybe he would ask the animals what they didn’t miss about being down here.

And the platypus and cheetah would probably be all, ‘Oh the dry season, totally’ or ‘Crocodiles’.

But the domestic animals?

I’m thinking that they would be saying the exact same things we say about them…

‘Man, my master could snore like no other!’

‘Oh, the farting! My boy could clear a room!’

‘And every time the doorbell rang, they’d just run to the door, so even if I was sleeping, I had to get up and run with them so they didn’t open the door alone.’

‘Oh, I know! And they were never still! It was up-down-up-down-up-down all day long, I couldn’t lie still for a second!’

‘I know, where was the me time?’

‘No kidding!’


‘But they were pretty great though.’

‘Did yours ever give you bacon?’


‘And those belly rubs, my girl gave such good belly rubs…’

‘Yeah….that totally makes up for the snoring’

‘But maybe not the farts!’


‘Sigh. I’m happy, and I know that it’s pretty great here…’

‘Yeah. Me too. But….’

‘I know. It’s gonna be pretty great to see them again someday.’

‘Yeah. I miss ’em.”

‘Farts and all?’

‘Farts and all.’

 Thanks for readin’


Just as I was ready to publish, Princess Blaze wandered into Monty’s corner. Perhaps checking out the view. Perhaps ascending to the throne.


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