Hard as I try... the grief washes over me every evening. Lucy and I had an evening ritual of a trip out side for a walk around the property, then it was a cookie for being a good girl, and a little bowl of raw milk from the holding tank, brushing of both our choppers, some "huggie time", and the radio would send us off to sleep. None of this happens anymore... well, except for brushing my teeth. I completely lose it when I crawl in bed. Now, instead of the radio putting me to sleep, it's tears. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take it. I've started volunteering at the shelter in town, and have met some wonderful dogs, and people. None of them are Lucy though... and none will ever be. I want Lucy back, and nothing else will do I'm afraid. She barked twice the other morning and woke me up. I was an hour late to get the cows up and start milking. It wasn't her, but it was her bark. Hard as that may be to believe, it happened. A week ago, I thought I was moving ahead. Now, not so much. The vet's office called Thursday to let me know that Lucy's ashes and her paw print are there for me to pick up. A lot of people say that it helps to have them. Right now, to me, it seems like that will remove my ability to pretend she'll come running down the hall and jump on her little couch for a nap. I guess we'll see if it helps. So, anyway... it helps to write here. I'm sorry there are so many new people grieving the loss of their pets. This year seems so dark. I'll be 60 this year. That doesn't matter to me one way or the other, I reckon.
Be good to yourselves. More later.