It’s much too quiet in our house today.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to one of the best buddies ever – our little friend Ron.

I posted at the very start of this blog about Ron and her failing liver, and how we had tried almost everything we could think of to make her well again, includng the all-natural food experiment. And while roast chicken and pasta worked for a while, it was no match for what she was up against. We had a fabulous extra year with her, snuggling on snowy winter afternoons, bounding through the snow, touring the neighborhood (nose down, tail up), but in the end, we had exhausted all the options. She wasn’t getting better, she was in pain and only going to get worse, so we decided to let her go.

I have to admit, the best description for how I feel right now is bereft. I never expected to own dogs, let alone love them so much. Because I work at home, I spent just about every waking hour with Ron and Len. And though they never mastered the art of the Very Important Conference Call, they were the best office companions a girl could want. Ron, especially, spent many an afternoon curled up on a cushion beside my chair, ready to get up if I got up, always curious about what was going on around her. Was it dinner? A walk? A few minutes outside? What are you doing, and how can I get in there, too?

In the last year, I spent a lot of time thinking about her health. I messed around with recipes and tried to find foods she liked. I felt absolutely victorious when she was a healthy weight, when her coat was glossy and her gums pink. I like to think that she had a good last year, or even a good last few years, and that even when her body was failing she knew she had a pack who only ever wanted the best for her.

So it’s too quiet. I miss the click-click of her walking around the house, the sound of her drinking (always in threes, lap-lap-lap, lap-lap-lap), or even just the little grunts and sighs she made as she settled in for a nap. There’s too much room on the bed. I miss having to move over so she could jump up, watching her contemplate, and then hearing one of us say, “Come on. Come on up. There’s room for a brown dog.”

We are lucky, though, in that we still have her partner in crime, Len. We have plenty of adventures to look forward to, in our new pack of three. There will be rides in the truck, hikes in the mountains, afternoons in the garden, and snowy days snuggled on the couch. And I’m sure throughout all of them, even though we’ll be having a good time, we’ll be thinking about Ron, one of the best friends any man, woman or canine could ever want.