The whole household is still reeling from yesterday's unexpected farewell. Saoirse didn't want to go outside this morning, not to pee, not to eat, not for nothing. She wanted to cuddle on my bed and that's it. All the dogs had been eating meals outside because of Murray (because without the "threat" of other dogs, he sometimes wouldn't eat, including his pills.) When Saoirse refused to go out this morning, I brought her bowl inside, as I did every time Murray went camping in the mountains. When dinnertime rolled around, I fed both Saoirse and Beinn in the kitchen. I see no point in going outside anymore, especially in bad weather (it was 100 degrees at dinnertime).
Beinn barely knew Murray, and Murray was a grumpy old man by the time he joined the family. Saoirse, on the other hand, has no memories of living here without him. She is taking this hard. I've given her lots of extra cuddles today. Beinn has just wanted to cheer me up, not realizing that sailing up on the bed when I was lying down, watching videos, means giant paws smashing and scraping me in ways I was not comforted by. And I bruise more easily now that I'm getting older.
Mr S-P and housemate number two took Murray up the mountain for the last time today. It took both of them, plus her dog Dice, to dig his grave in the meadow he loved so much. They built a cairn over his grave, both as a memorial and as protection from the animals who live on the same mountain. I stayed home, hoping to clean up the kitchen more than the oppressive heat allowed, so we would be less reminded of Murray's last moments on the floor there. I got a lot done, but I wish I could have done more. Maybe it's better to allow myself space to grieve before I get too worked up on fresh starts.
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