I'm not the type of person whose life revolves around my pet. I would never in a million years take my dog to work (well, if I worked in an office with other people) or to the ballpark (Bark at the Park may be baseball's stupidiest innovation yet, and that's saying a lot) or shopping or all of the other places people insist on taking their pets. I was not my dog's mommy; the dog was not my child.
But this week has been an adjustment as I try to get used to this new life without her in the house. 17 years is a long time. Over the past five years I worked at home, we had our routines. One of the routines was putting her outside for a few minutes before an interview and then letting her back in before I got on the phone. I had interviews scheduled on Monday, and both times, I went out to the kitchen to let the dog out. Except she wasn't there. I still take a giant step over the spot on the floor where she'd sleep.
It will get easier and the routine will shake itself out. But this has been a long, hard week.