July 15, 2001
Last week my husband and I drove up to Carmel. In the evening we were driving to an Italian restaurant when I saw a man walking a
wire fox terrier who looked exactly like Gunter (same jaunty walk--before his illness). While we were at the restaurant, opera (of course) was playing in the background. A piece by Andrea
Bocelli began, and I started crying quietly. My throat closed up, and I couldn't swallow my food. Is this lame or what? I even felt a bit of anger toward Gunter because he
left. I read about the stages of grief and how they shift around--sometimes I'm angry, sometimes I'm sad; sometimes when I'm remembering the good times, I feel like laughing. Today my
husband and I were just reminiscing about how Gunter hated having his anal glands expressed at the veterinarian (hopefully you know what I'm referring to). The veterinarian, of course, always
put on latex gloves--Gunter hated the process with a passion. Anyway, because of his unpleasant experience, whenever Gunter saw me putting on latex gloves to color my hair, he would leave the
house through the doggy door. But the funny thing is he wouldn't rush out or run out the door. He would be very casual and nonchalant about it as though he were worried that if I were on
to the fact that he was escaping, I'd catch him before he could make it out the door. He would just look about very casually, and slowly make his way to the doggy door, then leap out
suddenly. He even sometimes did this when my husband or I put on rubber gloves to scrub a pot or a pan. In fact, once he saw my mother putting on wool gloves during the winter--and out he
went. Remembering his surreptitious glances and calculated escapes makes me smile. I guess it must be a very unpleasant experience indeed to have one's glands expressed. At least it
was in Gunter's opinion.
We haven't gone on a walk since Gunter passed away. My husband suggested it about three weeks ago, but the thought of going down those roads without my little guy really
hurts. I still haven't returned the four cans of dog food he never got around to eating. I can't imagine what I'd say at the store when they ask why I'm returning it. Probably start
crying.
The thought of getting another dog makes me feel somewhat guilty as though I were
betraying Gunter.