Last night, around five o’clock, we said goodbye to little Fei Fei.
She was seventeen, which is a long life for a small dog, and she lived it well.
She was part of the everyday rhythm of the house, always there, always familiar, just quietly existing in the spaces that made up our days.
My daughter had two little Chihuahuas.
Perry was the first to go, a couple of years ago now.
He was about seventeen or eighteen too.
It’s taken a couple of years, but now his little mate has followed him.
Today, I’m burying Fei Fei in the backyard, right next to Perry.
That spot matters.
It means they’re together again, side by side where they belong.
From the kitchen, you don’t just look out the window, you look at them.
That’s where they are now, in the yard, part of the home still, just in a different way.
It’s very sad, but it’s also clear they both had beautiful, long lives.
Not every dog gets that.
My granddaughter wants to plant a flower on top, something that will grow there.
A small continuation of life in the same place.
It’s bittersweet, grief and gratitude sitting side by side.
I’ve taken the day off today.
There’s a specialist appointment, but otherwise I’m not putting pressure on anything.
Just letting the day unfold as it needs to.
It’s a nice day, even with everything.
The Lady in the Back Row 