Roxy wants a cookie

In late July, a week or so after Toivo died, J and I adopted a white pitbull named Roxy. (My friends, family, and social media followers have seen plenty of pictures of Roxy, but this is the first time I’ve mentioned her on-blog.)

Roxy's bedroom eyes. #SNELovesPets

If I had my way, I’d spend months, years, or more mourning a pet, but J belongs to the “move on quickly” school of pet bereavement, and I’m coming to see the wisdom of his approach. When you lose a pet, you have a dog-shaped hole in your heart, and although you won’t ever find another dog to perfectly fill that void, you can distract yourself by finding another creature in need of a home.

Roxy nests on laundry day. #SNELovesPets

The goal isn’t to replace the dog you lost: that can’t be done. The goal instead is to drive out the Phantom Dog–the almost hallucinatory sense that the Dog That’s Gone is still there–that arises when you’ve lost a pet. For the first week or so after Toivo died, I habitually looked for her on the bed every time I walked into the bedroom, even though I knew she wasn’t there. When making the bed in the morning, I habitually put Toivo’s chew-bone in the center of the bedspread even though she wasn’t there to chew it, and at night I automatically latched the door to her crate even though there was no one inside.

One of the first things I did after Toivo died was to gather and put away the omnipresent reminders of her presence. I put away the pet steps she used to climb into bed when her hind legs weren’t working, the cone she wore during and after her hospitalization, and the long lead I used when we sat outside on the patio or porch. But I purposefully didn’t dispose of Toivo’s biscuits, treats, or rolls of poop bags, knowing I’d need those things again, eventually. Keeping the accoutrements of daily dog-care close at hand was a way of keeping my heart-door open to whatever dog might choose to wander in, and that’s how Roxy arrived.

Both Djaro and Roxy prefer my side of the bed. 🤔

Now that Roxy has lived with us for a few months, it’s abundantly clear she isn’t Toivo. Physically, Roxy looks nothing like Toivo: when it comes to appearances, a white pitbull is almost the exact opposite of a black Belgian Maliniois. Whereas Toivo was slim and sleek, Roxy is solid and muscular: a sturdy girl. Toivo spun like a top when she got excited, and Roxy bounces straight in the air. Toivo liked to sprawl when she slept, and Roxy likes to curl into what J and I call a pitball.

Roxy says she'll miss me terribly while I'm on campus teaching today, but I'm not so sure. 😊

Roxy now sleeps in the crate that used to be Toivo’s, but whereas Toivo loved to sleep atop a thick, fleecy bed we bought to fit her crate, Roxy will destroy anything with stuffing. Given Roxy’s predilection for hiding under blankets, we’ve learned to line her crate with two repurposed bedspreads: one for her to sleep on, and one for her to burrow beneath.

We still sometimes (often) call Roxy “Toivo” by mistake, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Although Roxy never met Toivo, Roxy wouldn’t be with us now if Toivo hadn’t been with us then. In this way, the two of them will always be linked, like sisters from another mother.