It's Thursday, and my friend passed away on Monday at the age of 13. It's very early, perhaps a bit too early, to really put anything into words that are going to sound coherent.

I read a thing today suggesting that writing about your pet is one thing you can do in a situation like this. After all, before I munged my site into something resembling photography I used to write quite regularly, and enjoyed it, so why not? I'm going to indulge my fingers a little here and see where it goes.

So Monday happened. In a way I'd been preparing myself for a bit. He was deaf and his eyesight wasn't what it used to be. He slept a lot, had trouble standing sometimes. But I thought we still had some time left. Don't you always? He still had life ahead of him right? Nothing was going to happen that day, that Monday.

Yet it did. He collapsed outside. Couldn't stand, walk, focus, see, or recognize anything. It was heartbreaking to witness. I lay with him for a few hours. Then we went to the vet. Then he was gone. It was all over so very fast. What the hell had just happened? I stayed in the room at the vets for probably ages, I have no idea. I told Foster I was sorry and thanked him for all the times he'd been there and listened to me through some low times.

And then comes the part that everyone who's ever lost someone will know all too well. "well now what?"

In many ways grieving the loss of a pet is an odd thing. Some people understand, some don't. You can always tell the ones who have never owned a pet before. You can see the "it was just a dog, get over it" look in their eyes. Thankfully most everyone has been tremendously supportive and sympathetic and for that I'm very grateful.

Mornings are the worst I find. The normal routine completely turned upside down. Typically I'd see my wife and daughter off to school then go inside make a fuss of Foster, give him breakfast, and then get ready for work. I wonder how long I'm going to look around in the morning and expect to see him in the kitchen waiting for me? Empty house feels empty.

I have some tasks ahead of me. In the next week or so we're going to collect a series of photos and make a book of memories. I also have to decide what to do with all his stuff too. For now, everything stays where it is. I can't bring myself to move them anywhere else.

So this is what writing again feels like. I might even do more of it again someday.