When we were in the city this weekend, a couple was waiting at a crosswalk while my friends and I sat around a small table outside a cafe. I looked up and saw a dog that looked like Pepper’s twin at their feet. “Oh my gosh, that dog looks JUST like Pepper,” I breathed.
(Pepper’s NYC twin)Â
I asked my friends if they thought it would be weird for me to approach the couple and ask to take a picture of their dog to send to the boys. A chorus of “You have tos!” and “Do its!” later, I ran acoss the street and approached the couple, explaining that their dog looked just like my dog.
I didn’t get into Pepper’s death and the horrible way she died but rather focused on their dog. The characteristics they shared about their tiny dog reminded me so much of Pepper. Their dog was a rescue like Pepper and an unknown combination of breeds they also assumed was a swirl of chihuahua and terrier. They were the kindest couple and asked to see pictures of Pepper which I scrolled through as they agreed, “Wow, our dogs really are twins!”
Pepper kept popping into my mind throughout the rest of our time in the city as I kept wishing I’d see her twin scampering across the street or strolling through Central Park. I realize now it wasn’t her twin I wanted to see again but her. I think about Pepper every single day. Our kids still talk about her every single day.
We aren’t crying and wrapped up in grief like we were after she was attacked. We’ve moved through the worst phases of losing a beloved pet. But we do miss her. A lot. And missing Pepper feels different than the ache I felt after losing a dog who lived a long, full and wonderful life.
Missing Pepper feels like missing moments she should’ve been able to experience. We should’ve had more than a decade left with our girl to fill with memories saturated with Pepper. I should still be able to feel her tiny little butt perched on my hip as she looks out the window of my car on our drives to and from school drop offs. She should still be able to curl up into my stomach as I read at night before bed.
I must admit, I just had all of the above paragraphs highlighted and ready to delete because it’s been six months and you guys certainly did not stop by my blog today to read about my dead dog. My grief pales in comparison to the grief others are experiencing right now. I know this fully and completely. But you know what’s never helpful when it comes to grief? Comparison. So I’m going to publish this post. I’ll publish this post and share this seemingly small heartache because I miss my dog. I miss the “could have beens” and the “should have beens.” I’ll go back to living real life with that little bit of heaviness lingering in the background. I’ll probably laugh and have a decent day but moments will pop up that hurt when I think about Pepper and how much I really and truly miss her. Part of me hopes that somewhere, somehow Pepper can feel just how much our family still loves her, misses her and thinks of her. I hope she knows the hole she left when she died is so much bigger than the tiny 7-pound peppy ball of fuzz and fluff she was when she was here on earth.
Loss sucks. No matter what it looks like or how it happens. And something about entering into my 40s has made me think about it more because it happens more. It’s also made me love harder and appreciate the people and animals I love all the more because middle age has made things feel more finite. Honestly, I can really get into my head about the finality of life sometimes and it’s deeply unnerving. It’s something I try to pull myself out of when I spend too much time there… usually at 2 a.m.
But this was supposed to be a post about Pepper. Actually, it was supposed to be a post about my trip to NYC. But sometimes I don’t know where my words will take me… just like life, I suppose.
We miss you, Pepper. A whole lot. Even still.
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