My mother’s dog of eighteen years died today. Duchess was a spunky little one — eight pounds of fluffy white tenacity who once chased down a coyote across an acre of our backyard until it dropped our other family dog, Dukie, that it had snatched up by the neck. This fireball of a Maltese startled and went after the coyote with such swiftness and vigor that when Dukie tumbled down, he had only a set of clean fang punctures on the nape of his neck, but was otherwise uninjured and went onto to have a full recovery.

We’d give her these doggie puzzle toys that “smart dogs” uncover treats from by figuring out how to move little knobs or slide barriers away — Duchess never learned these mind stimulating games because she’d immediately lift the entire puzzle up between her little teeth, aggressively shake the whole thing until all the treats flew out, and then feast all at once on her bounty. When she was mad at my dad for reprimanding her for something or other, she’d sneakily poop in his shoe so he’d step into her little surprise not long after.

Duchess had a lot of health problems — she went blind at a young age and was afflicted with awful skin allergies almost her entire life, and yet she outlived Dukie by a decade, and my sister’s dog, Schubert, who was years younger. Our family was of course delighted and perplexed at her longevity. It’s difficult for me to process this little soul that has been a part of my life for so much of my life. I feel like I can buffer confrontation with her loss differently from my mother who lived and cared for Duchess daily, whereas I’d see her during brief visits home.

A few years ago, I got a 7 week long-haired dachshund puppy, Murphy Karl, who is the first dog of my own and absolutely a part of my soul. I spend every day with him, as my mom did with Duchess for nearly two decades — I cannot fathom the pain she is experience right now. My face feels hot and my eyes brim with tears typing this…I think we cry because it’s all too much for our bodies to contain — tears are our spirits brimming out of a body that is too small of a vessel for our souls. These tears feel simultaneously intense and vague. They are for the loss of Duchess, the pain of knowing someone I love is suffering, the acute remembrance of losing Dukie, the grief I carry knowing I will one day lose Murphy.

I was devastated when Dukie died a decade ago (he was our family dog, but we were particulate bonded, he was known as mine). I wrote then:

Dukie and I shared a piece of the same soul. Now a little less of me is in this world and a little more retuned to that somewhere else we recognized each other from.

I lament the brevity of dogs lives — but I am also grateful for it because as much as I carry the grief of those lost, and the dread of losing in the future, I would rather carry that and be able to comfort and care for them than have them suffer losing us. I know they would because they love us too.

(Not the most cheerful post for me today, but grateful to Matt, who is so dear to me, and who gifted to us on his birthday today, this nudge and encouragement to write.)