Two years later

Winston by Trudie Barreras

My beloved dog Winston died two years ago today. I still miss him a lot.

I want to honor his memory by posting this new portrait of Winston by artist Trudie Barreras. It shows the steady, loving gaze that he had whenever he looked at me, starting from our first meeting.

I have a new dog now who looks somewhat like my Great Dane mix Winston, but his personality is so different that it makes me appreciate Winston all the more. The new dog is great in his own way, but Winston had a unique style of endless gratitude and love for all people. I think Winston would approve of the long walks that I take in the park every day with the new dog.

I’m grateful to Trudie for putting Winston’s spirit on paper. Trudie does pet portraits as "donation incentives" for animal rescue groups and other charities. The pastel drawings are done in size suitable for framing in 8 x 10 format. Anyone interested in inquiring in more detail about this project should contact Trudie at tbarreras@bellsouth.net or visit her website, http://www.schuylerart.com/pet-portraits.html

Forgiving myself... I took on his pain

Here's Winston a few months before the end...
the kitty in the background is still with us

It’s been a year and a half since my dog Winston died, and I’m almost ready to forgive myself for deciding to euthanize him. He was ready to go and met the objective criteria for euthanasia (couldn’t walk, incontinent, in pain, elderly, no hope of recovery, etc). But in retrospect it felt like I let him go too soon -- especially when I started going to “pet loss support” groups and chat rooms after his death, and discovered that they also provide emotional support for people who are nursing pets whose health is failing. With their support, I could have had more time with Winston!

It’s often said that when you forgive someone, you do it for your own benefit, not for the person being forgiven. But what about forgiving yourself? I can’t forgive myself for my own sake. I still feel like punishing myself for the worst decision of my entire life, the euthanasia decision.

However, I can begin to imagine forgiving my past self for the sake of those who depend on me now, including my new dog. We got him about a year ago. I can’t bond fully with my new dog while I am still stuck on Winston. It’s not fair to the new dog when I keep comparing him to Winston, forcing him to do the things Winston enjoyed, and generally feeling like I don’t deserve a dog anymore.

As much as I loved Winston, I didn’t fully appreciate him until after he died. I thought that all dogs were similar. But now I know that each one is absolutely unique. There will never be another dog like Winston. I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I want to appreciate my new dog now, while he is alive and with me. And so I will try to forgive myself.

After writing the above, I took my grief to the chat room at PetLoss.com, and received these comforting words of wisdom from BooBoosMommy: “You did what was best for him, you took his pain away and took it on yourself.”

I saw the real Rainbow Bridge

I think of this as the Rainbow Bridge

I’ve seen the legendary “Rainbow Bridge,” where dogs are said to wait after death for their owners to join them. I was missing Winston a lot recently, so I tried to imagine him at the Rainbow Bridge. This time I could imagine it really clearly!

At first I was surprised at my power of imagination. Then I figured out that I was remembering an actual place. It’s a bridge leading to a beautiful dog park next to a river. I call it the River Park. Many people let their dogs run free there in the late afternoon. I go there every other day with my new dog, and he loves romping with the other dogs there.

The main entrance to the River Park is a bridge from the parking lot into the grassy park. I took Winston there a few times in his lifetime, and I’ve walked over that bridge countless times with my new dog, but I never connected it with the Rainbow Bridge until now.

I often think of the River Park as my vision of what heaven is like: dogs playing happily in nature as the river flows by. I always feel calm and happy there. It’s empty in the afternoon. At dusk the right people and dogs show up as if by magic. Sometimes a Great Blue Heron flies over and perches in a tree or walks elegantly on the grass. After sunset everyone goes their separate ways… until we meet again.

Recently I even saw an actual rainbow near the bridge, but I still didn’t think of it as the Rainbow Bridge where Winston’s spirit awaited me. Then it hit me.

I decided to tell Dillon. “I realized something. Remember the Rainbow Bridge?”

Bang! Suddenly, right when I said the words “Rainbow Bridge,” the power went out! Wow, what a statement from the spirit world!

Within a few minutes, the power blinked back on. No harm done, just confirmation of a powerful truth from the energy fields around us.

That afternoon when I look my new dog to the River Park, I thought of Winston as we crossed the Rainbow Bridge. And I found a lucky four-leaf clover in the grass there.

I took some photos of this special, healing place to share with people who visit this blog.

Click here for more info on the Rainbow Bridge.

Dog at the end of the Rainbow Bridge

Winston can’t be far away

Me and Winston... nothing can separate us

I am comforted by the thought that Winston’s spirit must be nearby. In life he used to follow me from room to room, never leaving me alone. Even when he couldn’t walk, he would drag himself around to follow me. Why would he be any different after death? That was part of the very essence of who he was.

My new dog is so independent that I sometimes feel rejected. It makes me appreciate Winston’s desire to be near me. Nothing, not even death, can keep Winston away. His spirit is still with me. Forever.

Winston wants me to go on

Winston kissing me... one of our last photos together

One idea has helped me move on now that my dog Winston is gone. It’s this: He would want me to keep going.

Winston would want me to keep walking on the park trails that we loved to walk together -- and even explore new trails with our new dog. He would want me to keep enjoying the scents of fresh grass and mustard flowers, the warm sunshine, the crunch of the earth beneath my feet, the songs of birds and crickets.

Winston never missed an opportunity to go for a walk. As long as he had breath, he enjoyed life. Nothing stopped him from living his life to the full, and he would not approve if I let my love for him stop me from living my life fully.

So I go on. It’s what Winston would want.

Winston calendar celebrates his life

I just finished putting together a 2009 calendar with the best photos of Winston -- and some other cute dogs and cats in my life (including Sapphire).

I did my first pet-photo calendar last year as a Christmas gift to family and friends… and as a way to honor Winston as his health was failing last December. The calendar was a big hit with everyone, so I’m doing it again. This year I'm also making it available for sale online. Check out the ad below.

Working on the calendar helps me continue processing my grief over Winston’s death, and to celebrate his life and remember the many good times we shared. Giving the calendar to people is also a joyful, personal way to connect with my “dog friends.”

Almost everyone who sees it wants to make one of their own and asks how I did it. Follow the Zazzle.com links for more info.

All dogs and cats in this calendar are real pets, photographed with their real companions, in or near their real homes. See cute puppies and kittens, dogs of all shapes and sizes… Great Danes, Lab, Dachshund, Beagle mix and more. Made with love.

make custom gifts at Zazzle

Moving on...?

I was waiting until I "got over" my dog Winston's death before I did some stuff... then this week I realized that I will NEVER get over it. So I might as well live my life as best I can without Winston by my side.

It's been close to 10 months since he "moved on."

My dog came back from heaven

We took the new Great Dane pup to an outdoor coffee shop where we used to take Winston. They happened to have a street fair, so we walked through it, having lots of fun as people petted and marveled over our new Great Dane puppy.

We stopped to listen to a live singer-guitarist, and she launched into “I Will Remember You” by Sarah McLaughlin -- the very song that I played over and over in Winston’s last weeks, while he was dying…!

I will remember you.
Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by.
Weep not for the memories.

It brought tears to my eyes as I felt Winston with us. But I knew that he wanted me to have fun, not cry because I still miss him.

Grief goes on, and so will this blog

After my latest grief meltdown, I realized that this blog must continue -- for me and for others. For others because I keep getting comments and emails from readers who say that this blog is really helping them face the end of their own dog’s life. I know from experience that there are very few places online that address the death of a beloved pet. I am honored that Winston’s story has value for them.

And this blog must continue for me because I will always love Winston. Grieving his death will be a lifelong process. I will never forget him for as long as I live, and there will be times when I will want and need to write about it.

I believe that his spirit lives on and visits sometimes, and our relationship continues to grow until we meet again at the place that some call the Rainbow Bridge and others call Dog Heaven.

Pet Loss Support Group helps

I resolved to go back to the pet loss support group at the local Humane Society after my recent grief meltdown. I needed it, even though I had never met anyone there who was still grieving a dog who died eight months earlier as Winston did.

I take that back -- the therapist who leads the group is still grieving for a dog who died several years ago. The therapist welcomed me back with open arms.

This time I cried at the support group as much as I did when Winston first died in February. I told them that I had spent the first few months focusing on (reviewing, sometimes regretting) my euthanasia decision, but now I am mostly remembering how special Winston was, and appreciating his good qualities. But when the therapist asked about my current feelings on euthanasia, I found that I still struggle with that, too. “I did the best I could at the time,” I mumbled.

It was especially helpful to hear the experiences of another woman who had lost a dog who sounded a lot like Winston -- naturally well behaved and socially adept. Her new dog was hard to manage like my new dog. This seems to be a pattern, because I also heard it at the online pet loss chat group.

The woman had gotten her new dog several years before the old dog died, but it was the same struggle that I have -- comparing the dogs, wondering why the second couldn’t be as good as the first. However, she was much further along in the process, so she was able to say that we owners contribute to the problem by comparing the dogs instead of accepting the new dog as is, the way we did with the first dog. Another pattern is that the spouse bonds more quickly with the second, “imperfect” dog. Maybe Winston only seems perfect to me because he was so attached to me, but he didn’t obey my partner as much. The dog’s beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It frees me to look at the new pup with fresh eyes and fall in love with his quirks as I did with Winston when we first met.

My next post will tell about an amazing experience that I had right after I left the support group.

Grief hits 8 months after dog died

Winston at his prime in 1999, when he was 3 years old

I had a meltdown last week, crying uncontrollably because I missed my dog Winston so much, about 8 months after he died.

The crisis was triggered by my new puppy’s misbehavior on a walk. We were walking past the house where one of his favorite dog-friend’s lives. At least, I was walking past. The pup stopped and refused to keep going. He’s a Great Dane puppy and at five months old he’s already too big for me to force him against his will if he gets really stubborn. I tried every recommended training technique, but in the end I’m sorry to report that I lost my temper and yelled at him. Naturally it didn’t do any good, just scared him. Somehow I managed to pull hard enough to get him moving again.

When we got home I started crying: “I’ll never have a friend like Winston to walk with me!” I couldn’t help thinking of how much better Winston acted on walks. Winston never refused to keep walking, and always had a grateful, upbeat attitude. I had been trying not to compare my new dog to Winston, but a flood of emotions overwhelmed me. I had to admit to myself that I have not gotten over the grief of Winston’s death. I even considered returning the new pup to his breeder because I couldn’t handle him.

That night I ended up going to the online chat group at PetLoss.com. The people there are lifesavers! I get especially great support from the “wolves” there -- regular participants with “wolf” in their nicknames. They come to help others while they themselves are still hurting from the loss of a beloved animal.

I went online to the pet loss chat group without resting as I should. And I stayed online for much longer than my body could handle. I ended up getting sick with tonsillitis. But I needed a place to process the grief, and they saved me from dangerously intense grief.

Some especially useful ideas from that night:

• ABSOLUTELY MOST USEFUL IDEA: When Princeton acts up, think about how I would have handled it if Winston did the same thing.

• After they die, our old dog sends us the new dog that they know will need us or will help us smile or that will comfort us. (So Winston picked out the wild new pup for me!)

• I’m not dishonoring Winston by loving the new pup. The old dog may even choose a new pup who is extremely different just so we won’t feel guilty for loving the new one in the same way.

• Sometimes we just have to blow off steam when the new dogs drive us nuts and then go back fresh the next day.

• “Those tears you still find glistening in your eyes for Winston are but a reflection of the love you share with him. The love for this new boy will shine in your eyes one day, but it will never replace that love for Winston.”

• “Amazing thing about a heart is that it will expand to capture all the love it can. You can love your lost baby to bits and yet also love a new baby that needs you.”

It’s been hard for me to see that the new pup needs me. He’s much more self-sufficient and independent than Winston. In addition, his breeder has a lifetime guarantee that if we ever can’t take care of him, we must return him to the breeder and she will make sure that he has a good home for the rest of his life. This is certainly a great lifetime protection for the pup, but it kind of has the reverse effect on me, making me question myself and wonder whether the pup would be better off with somebody else.

When the new pup acts up, it really helps to think, “What if Winston did this?” For example, when I was leash-training Winston, I used a long (25-foot) leash at first. With the new pup, I had always used the 6-foot leash. Now I use the long leash sometimes with the new pup, and he’s much happier on our walks.

The grief didn’t end there. I’m writing a series of posts about other steps I took to handle my grief explosion.

Winston, I still miss you

I’ll always remember Winston like this

I couldn’t help thinking of my dear departed Great Dane mix Winston last week when I was lying next to my new Dane puppy in the hallway. Winston used to lie in that same spot. I really missed my old Winston. I wished I had spent more time just lying next to him and snuggling after he became paralyzed and incontinent, instead of wasting precious time and money on a fruitless search for a cure. I know so many things now that I didn’t know before my dog died.

These are things that I learned because Winston died: That every breath is precious. That for me, having a dog makes life worth living. That taking care of Winston in his last weeks was not preventing me from living my life -- it WAS my life, and after my dog was gone, there was nothing else that I wanted to do except get another dog. That there are support groups online and at the Humane Society to provide emotional support for people whose dogs are dying. That I am stronger than I knew.

I learned these things because my dog Winston died. I would have handled it differently if I knew then what I know now, but his death was the only way I could have learned these hard truths. They are Winston’s gift to me, and I believe that teaching me these truths was part of his life purpose.

I’ve also learned that his death would have been just as hard even if I had handled it differently. Everyone at the pet loss support group wishes they had made different choices, but those who did choose differently have just as many regrets. I know that Winston was ready to go, and that his spirit rejoiced when it was set free to soar to the stars.

As I was thinking all this, the wind blew through the trees -- a sound that used to terrify Winston until the day before he died, when he listened to the wind without fear for the first time. He seemed to sense that he could become the wind. Some music started playing from next door, and the lyrics seemed to echo from Winston to me, and back again. “I miss you, I love you…”

That day my new puppy and I bonded. After 2 months of seemingly endless bite-fights, we could finally lie down on the floor together and rest. I love my new puppy, and the personality differences between him and Winston help me appreciate Winston in new ways, too.

The new pup is a purebred who was raised like royalty. He had never set foot outside until he joined our family at 8 weeks old. He is comfortable in crates and on leashes. He retreats to another room to sleep when he is tired. He likes dogs better than most people, and assumes that humans will love him. He has never known want or neglect. He takes everything for granted -- sometimes to the point of seeming like a spoiled brat -- but on the other hand, he has no insecurities about his future. Of course, he is still a puppy, so he will grow in wisdom.

In contrast, Winston came to us as a one-year-old street dog who had been abandoned by previous owners. He loved people and tried to win over every person he met, almost always with great success. He always showed gratitude for his life with us. The flip side was that he never trusted completely that this was his forever home. He couldn’t bear to be alone, even if we were just in another room. He had phobias, including major fear of confinement. I still have emotional scars from seeing the terror and misery and sense of betrayal on his face the first time we put him in a kennel. His fears eased during his years with us, but his gratitude and eagerness to please remained.

There’s been an almost complete turnover in the dog population of our neighborhood. Almost all the dogs who filled Winston’s life with fun and adventure are dead and gone. Only three of his original buddies remain, and all of them are stiff, grouchy and grizzled with old age.

Winston’s best friend was a female Pit Bull who lived across the street. Now Winston and his Pit Bull buddy are both in Dog Heaven, but our new puppy just found a new dog friend living down the street -- a female Pit Bull, the same as Winston’s best friend. My spirits soared as I saw the two dogs chasing and wrestling each other, just like Winston used to do with his old best friend. I felt that their spirits rejoiced and raced with the two new friends, another Dane boy and Pit Bull girl. Life goes on.

Here is my letter to Winston today:

Winston, I will always love you. Thank you for coming into my life and teaching me so much. No other dog will ever be quite like you.

I wish you could meet our new puppy. I know that you would love him -- and teach him a few lessons in dog etiquette, too!

I will love other dogs in other ways, but no other dog can ever take your place in my heart. I will never forget the way you looked at me, grateful and eager to please -- until the very end.

A friend told me that dogs don’t live as long as humans because, if it were the other way around, dogs couldn’t bear the grief and loneliness. I know that in your case, that’s true. You and I are always together in spirit.

You have gone down a trail where I cannot yet follow, but someday our journey will come full circle. We are still connected, and our paths will cross again.

Healing vision: Two dogs

I had a breakthrough in healing my pet-loss grief. It seems like ever since my dog Winston died two and a half months ago, I have been overcome with longing for a new dog almost every night when I go to bed.

This time it was like I could feel a dog’s presence curled up beside the bed where Winston used to sleep. I tried to sense whether it was Winston or the new dog, the one that we hope to adopt soon.

Then the imaginary dog separated into two dogs. Winston stayed curled beside my bed, and the new dog moved outside and sat looking at me through the screen door.

For the first time I could separate my eagerness to get a new dog from my desire to be with my old dog Winston again. My overwhelming, insatiable longing for a dog became more manageable as I explored whether it was mostly about Winston or about the new dog. The most intense feelings were about Winston. But the new dog also evoked strong emotions.

I used to believe that the new dog would somehow be Winston in a new body. Now I feel that the new dog will be a stranger. And that’s OK. We will build a new relationship, have new adventures, and grow together in new ways.

I slept better with the image of the two dogs in my mind. For the first time since Winston died, I dreamed about dogs.

Pet Loss support group eases the grief

I attended the Pet Loss Support group at our local Humane Society again this week. The group meets monthly and I was there once before (in March). All the people were different, but the stories and personality types were eerily similar. For example, both times there was a couple who had recently lost a pet in a violent tragedy.

The most valuable part for me this time was hearing all the different stories of how people handled their pet’s illness. I learned that no matter what approach was taken, the results were the same: The animal died and the owner(s) regretted how they handled the crisis, wondering if they should have made different choices.

In my case, I wondered if I should have tried harder to keep my dog alive when he was suffering. However, those who waited longer felt just as guilty, wondering if they had made their pet suffer needlessly by keeping them alive too long. I also wondered if I should have tried acupuncture or more pain medications. Those who used those methods were no happier with the results. The end is the same: The time comes when you must let your pet go.

The therapist pointed that reviewing (or agonizing over) our decisions is part of the grief process. It’s known as bargaining. Of course, I have heard about this before, but I understand more completely what is meant by “bargaining,” and how powerfully it can take over the mind and heart.

Video honors a truly Great Dane

I love this video memorial to a Harlequin Great Dane. I don’t personally know the people or dog involved, but still the video speaks to my heart and to the loss I feel over my dog Winston. He looked and acted a lot like Amira, the Dane in this video.

The video’s winter scene is one of my favorite parts. Living in LA, I never got to take Winston to snow country, but now I can picture him there… or romping in the white clouds of dog heaven.

The video includes Sarah McLaughlin’s haunting song, “I will remember you” and this famous poem (poet unknown):

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Amen to that!

Click here for more info on the poem.

Click here to visit the YouTube site for the video

I’ll ALWAYS be Winston’s mom

Happy Days with me and Winston, summer 2006

Today I really miss my Great Dane mix Winston, who died in mid-February.

I felt sad at the thought that I am no longer a dog owner or, as people sometimes called me, “Winston’s mom.”

Then it hit me: I will ALWAYS be Winston’s mom. He was my Big Boy for almost 11 years until his death. Nothing can take that away from me. I am Winston’s mom forever!

Then I looked back at my photos of Winston -- both the good times (pictured above) and his last days when he was very, very sick. It actually helped to look at both periods. In my mind, I had forgotten how sick Winston was at the end, and so I started blaming myself for not keeping him alive longer. But in the photos I saw that look in his eye, the look that said he was ready to go… It gave me a sense of peace that I almost never feel anymore, not since Winston died.

Winston, I miss you! I remember all the fun we had together! I will always be your mom!

Flowers for Winston

I got a lovely surprise today when I looked outside at the spot in our lawn where Winston used to lay down and rest before he died. Three flowers are blooming there!

After he died last month that special patch of grass turned brown from constant drip of his urinary incontinence.

Now the grass is green again, and it’s the one place where flowers are blooming. Three golden dandelions stand out again the lawn. I see it as a tribute to Winston.

I’ve written stories about Winston’s adventures ever since we first adopted him. I thought that “The Story of Winston” would end when he died. But I find that it goes on.

Visiting the Pet Loss Support Group

Dillon and I went to a Pet Loss Support Group recently at our local humane society. We showed a calendar that I made with photos of Winston. The photos inspired the therapist leading the group to exclaim, “He’s your child!” I was surprised, but then again the photos did show all the love that we lavished on Winston, including taking him to see Santa Claus one Christmas. It hurt to think of my deceased dog as my child, but it did express the intensity of the loss.

Ten people were at the support group, all grieving their dead dogs and cats. Hearing their stories helped me and Dillon feel that we are not so alone, that others have experienced such loss. We all sat in a circle. Both Dillon and I sensed (or imagined) that each pet was sitting behind its owner in a larger outer circle.

For me it was especially useful to hear the other side of various issues. For example, some people kept torturing themselves by wondering they had resorted to euthanasia too soon, while others felt anguish because they had waited “too long” for euthanasia, making their pets suffer just because the owner wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It’s a no-win situation.

I also kept thinking that we could have eased our grief if we had adopted a second dog a few years ago. Then at least we would not be completely dog-less now, left alone without any canine companionship or protection. However, people with multiple dogs were still in tears, missing their particular dogs.

Some people pointed out that Dillon and I are lucky to have each other as we grieve. Most of those present were single or splitting up. It felt good to count my blessings, which are many. As they pointed out, we also still have our cat. Sapphire seems to be missing Winston, too.

Everyone had a different story as they told the circumstances of their pet’s death. It put an end to my thoughts that getting a dog without hip dysplasia might make the end easier. No matter what the cause of death, the dying process was hard. I actually found myself feeling fortunate over Winston’s relatively peaceful passing. One couple described how their dog was fatally injured in a gruesome dog mauling attack.

Toward the end, the therapist brought up getting another dog. Nobody was ready yet, and we heard stories about the difficulty bonding with a dog adopted too soon after a beloved dog died. However, Dillon and I do want to adopt another dog someday, and we were perhaps more ready than some.

The therapist concluded by reminding us that, no matter what, when all was said and done, we all loved our pets. It was the right thing to say.

Afterward many of us strolled through the kennels where dogs were available for adoption. Among them was Super Pup, the Beagle puppy that I had thought I wanted to adopt. I had gone crazy with desire for that pup a few days earlier when I found her on the Internet, but all it took was one glance to see that she was not the right dog for us.

“She’s so SMALL,” Dillon exclaimed in horror, as if smallness was a terrible deformity.

Yes, we do like big boys. We’re trying to keep open minds and open hearts about what kind of dog to adopt next. When we are ready, I trust that the right one will join our pack.

Dog Heaven

Dillon and I picked up Winston’s ashes last week. It was a sad occasion, but not without its bright spots.

A dog was in the vet's waiting room at the desk where we got the ashes: a Dalmatian puppy, a spotted dog like Winston.

One of the receptionists handed me the box of ashes. It looked an awful lot like a plain ordinary cardboard box. It just didn’t seem like my Winston at all. “Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.

She assured me that it was and pointed out a small label with his name -- and mine.

When we got home, Dillon carried the box in the door. “Winston’s back home,” she announced with a touch of happiness.

Surprisingly, it DID feel a bit like Winston was back. We opened the box and were amazed to find a beautiful brown suede box, wonderfully loved to the touch. The material looked and felt just like my late father’s favorite brown suede jacket. Inside the suede box was a canister with a label: “In loving memory: Winston.”

The box of ashes was 6 or 7 inches square and heavy, weighing four to five pounds. After we admired the box and reminisced for a while, Dillon got ready to leave. As she was going out the door, I noticed a box that arrived that day from Amazon. I thought it contained a laundry bag that I ordered, so I asked Dillon to open it before she left.

To our complete amazement, it was a book called Dog Heaven! This unexpected gift was sent by our vet, Dr. Beasley. Her note said, “In memory of Winston, a great dog whose life was filled with love.” The timing so perfect it could not have been humanly planned.

Dillon and I sat down immediately and read the book. It’s a children’s book with colorful illustrations for preschoolers, but it’s suitable for adults coping with the loss of a dog, too. We easily read it in one sitting. The text and illustrations by Cynthia Rylant describe how dogs in heaven enjoy running free, eating endless dog biscuits, sleeping on clouds and occasional return visits with angels. Sometimes we had to stop to weep.

I've been reading the book to myself at bedtime, when I tend to miss Winston a lot. It helps me fall asleep with sweet thoughts of my Winston in Dog Heaven.

No more dog bed

Today we gave the last of Winston’s dog food and dog biscuits to our housekeeper for her family’s dogs. We finished washing the pillowcases for his doggie bed and put them away in a closet. I had to fight back tears when we put away his pillows.

But it will be a happy day when we get them out again for a new dog.

Feeling sad after putting away Winston’s things, I lay down to take a nap. Then my kitty curled up under my arm to comfort me for more than an hour -- something she has only done once before, the night Winston died.