Since we got divorced, the ex-wife and I have spent the last few years sharing custody of what was once our two dogs, and has been one dog since 2022. Every month or two, we meet up and hand off the little guy, Gus, and get used to the reality of the next few weeks: he’s here, or he’s not.
What that means, in practice, is what I’m going through as I write this: spending the evening of the handoff by feeling as if I’m haunted. He’s not here, but I feel as if he should be, I keep looking around to find him, to see where he is. When he is here, he’s almost certainly almost underfoot or somewhere close by, asking to cuddle or at least find somewhere to sleep nearby; almost immediately, I get used to that, to the sound of his snoring and the feel of him lying against my side when I’m sitting on the couch or lying in bed. I get used to the rhythm of the house when he’s here, which means taking him out the back to piss or shit, and also checking for him when I don’t know where he is, in case he’s decided to piss somewhere inside the house because he’s 15 years old and dumb. (It’s happened.)
It’s those first nights when he’s gone that feel so odd; the sense that he should be here, should be underfoot or leaning against me. Even though I know he’s going to be back in a month, there’s a sense of loss and disorientation that I find myself pausing, having to take a mental step back to think about what’s happening for a second. It’s like a surprise sadness every single time I remember.