When my brother and his family lost their loyal German Shepherd, Sheba, last year, it was difficult to pull up onto their driveway. I expected to hear that high-pitched, excited whine and the whap, whap, whap of her tail against the chain-link fence. Instead, there was silence. Inside the house, there was an emptiness in space, in the places where Sheba would normally be -- groveling at my feet for a quick pat on the head, howling her heart out for attention, and scampering around the living room carrying her raggedy duck in her mouth. There were also the empty spaces where her things had been –- her food bowls, her leash, her much-loved dog bed.
One couple decided to keep their late dog’s bed up in their bedroom. Eventually, they adopted a new dog from the local shelter. Cooper’s paperwork said he was a good dog but required that you be “very very firm” with him. Poor guy. No wonder he was an anxious little ball of energy. For the first few days, they slept downstairs with him. Finally, he grew bold enough to explore upstairs and he found what they had forgotten –- the old dog bed. He was home.