There's a sweet op-ed piece acknowledging the pain of losing a pup and the connection between the new dog and the old in the
Boston Globe today ("The Secret Messages on the Dog Bed" by Elissa Ely).
Having never lived in a home (my manners were atrocious, unless you think that standing on tables and knocking lamps over is OK—what did I know?) before I settled in here in ol' Swellesley, I gave Sparky some space. First I slept in my crate. Then I graduated to the guest room. Now, I start off in the guest room, or my crate if I'm scared, then around midnight head to Sparky's old chair in my folks' room.
Let's face it: I'm really too big to fit in there properly, although it's amazing how tiny I can make myself. But Sparky liked it, and my folks are used to having a dog there. It's cozy, worn, and I can check on my parents. As for secret messages, I think it's more like telepathy. We couldn't be more different, but we have lots in common.
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