Wisdom from Dekker: What Our Pets Leave Behind (and What They Don’t)
As I, known by all as Dekker, lie in my favorite sunspot by the window, I find myself thinking about something serious today. Not scary-serious like fireworks or vacuum cleaners… but the kind of serious that makes my chest feel warm and my eyes a little soft.
Since my last blog post, some of you wrote in after reading my person’s story, Old Pets, New Lessons. It made your hearts ache a little… and wag a little too. So today, I want to answer some of your kind questions, the ones you whispered through tears or asked with a trembling paw on the keyboard. You miss your pets. Or you worry about saying goodbye to the ones still by your side.
Please curl up with me for a while. I’ll do my best to be a good listener.
Question from Mary:
“Dekker, my old cat passed away last month.
I keep hearing her claws clicking on the hardwood.
Why does her absence feel so loud?”
Woof Woof, Mary,
I think the absence of sound is sometimes the loudest sound there is.
I remember once when my person went away for a while. The house smelled like her—but she wasn’t there. I laid on her shoes, because they still told me stories about her day. I didn’t sleep much, either.
When someone you love leaves—whether for an hour or forever—your ears keep listening. Your heart keeps sniffing for their presence. And sometimes… you hear echoes.
Your cat’s claws were part of your daily rhythm. Like your heartbeat or the way the coffee maker sighs in the morning. It’s not strange at all that you still hear her.
Maybe instead of trying not to hear her, you could say, “There you are.” Just like I do when my person finally walks through the door. I don’t need her to speak—I know her footsteps. And I think your heart does too.
Does love ever really leave the house?
Question from June:
“Dekker, we had to put our dog down last week.
I keep wondering if she knew how much we loved her.”
Woof Woof, June,
Oh, my tail dropped a little when I read your question.
We know. We always know.
Dogs don’t measure love the way humans do. You use complicated phrases and tangled thoughts. We use nose-kisses, tail-wags, soft sighs. We smell it in your hands. We feel it when you sit beside us, even when you’re trying not to cry.
If you were there, that’s what mattered. If you whispered her name, or rested a hand on her fur, she knew. Even if you couldn’t stay, the love you gave her all her life was already tucked inside her bones. Dogs carry that. It’s the real reason we don’t need suitcases.
What if you trusted that love doesn’t need to be proven at the end?
It just is.
Question from Paul:
“Dekker, my golden is getting old.
Her legs are stiff and her eyes are cloudy.
How do I prepare myself for what’s coming?”
Woof Woof, Paul,
You’re already doing it.
You’re watching her more closely. You’re sitting longer by her side. You’re noticing things.
That’s preparing.
Dogs don’t worry about what’s coming next. If the grass smells good, we lie in it. If our legs are sore, we stretch slower. We adjust. But we also love just as hard as we did when we could run full speed across the yard.
The preparing doesn’t protect you from the pain. But it makes the time sweeter.
One day you’ll look back at the way she moved slow but still followed you to the kitchen, or the way she blinked those soft eyes when you spoke her name. That’s the part you’ll carry with you.
So don’t rush the goodbye. Sit with the hello that’s still here.
What if preparing means loving her now even more deeply?
Question from Catherine:
“Dekker, I’ve been thinking about getting another dog,
but I feel disloyal to the one I lost.
Is that wrong?”
Woof Woof, Catherine,
Ohhh no. You are not being disloyal at all.
Dogs don’t think in replacements. We don’t say, “This chew toy is better than that one,” even if it squeaks louder. Love for one doesn’t erase love for another. You aren’t erasing anything—you’re expanding.
Think of your heart like a patch of warm sun on the floor. When a new dog lies down in that spot, they’re not taking someone else’s place. They’re just warming themselves in the love that’s already there.
You’ll never forget the one you lost. We don’t ask you to. We’d be honored if you whispered their name while scratching the ears of someone new.
Do you have space in your heart for another wag?
Question from Iris:
“Dekker, what do you think happens
to pets when they die?”
Woof Woof, Iris,
Hmm. That’s a big question for a dog.
I don’t really know what happens…but I can tell you what I feel.
When my old friend Eliza died (she was a gentle cat with a great snore), I still smelled her for days. I still looked for her in our favorite spot on the couch where we snuggled together. But then…something shifted.
The air still felt kind.
The wind still carried something familiar.
And when I closed my eyes, I could feel her snore in my chest, like it had moved inside me.
Maybe that’s where they go.
Maybe love is the leash that never comes off. It stretches longer than the yard, longer than time. It’s invisible, but you still feel the tug.
So maybe they’re not far at all.
What do you think?
Until next time, may your fur always find a sunny spot, and may the love you shared with old friends stay soft and warm in your lap.
If you want to ask me a question, just leave a comment below. I love hearing from you. And rumor has it I get a special treat when I do…
Woof woof!!
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