The door. The stairs. The specific patch of floor. The sound of them settling at night.
Losing a dog removes forty small things, not one — and you rediscover each of them separately over weeks. That’s why it’s so tiring, and why people are often blindsided in month two when they thought the worst had passed.
This room is for all of it. The ones who were with you fourteen years and the ones who were only with you a few months. Puppies and old dogs. Ones you raised and ones you took on late.
Some things people find useful to write about: what their morning routine was, the daft habit nobody else would find funny, what you miss most at a specific time of day, and the things people have said that landed badly.
If you’re new here; what was their name?
