The hardest part of my business is saying goodbye, particularly when a beloved animal friend has died. Some goodbyes seem as permanent as death - e.g., when Zora (a Great Dane puppy) and her Mom moved back east. So while I was tearful the day I said goodbye to Zora, I knew she would have a happier life on a farm in Vermont.
Then there's Lucky - an older rescue dog who definitely wiggled his way into my heart. First, I cared for his feline friend, Scarlett. Then, Lucky was rescued from The Pixie Project, and was added to the family. So I began to walk Lucky twice a week, year round, in chilly rain, summer sunshine, and everything inbetween. When I had time, I took him to Mt. Tabor, where he got to sniff new smells, while I reveled in nature.
Walking Lucky was the highlight of many a week. His Moms and I jokingly referred to him as the "Mini Poopster." Although small in size, he stopped to poop more times on our walks than any dog I've known.
Change is always happening, even when we are not aware of it. I had grown so used to seeing Lucky and Scarlett twice weekly (and when their family was away.) I was happy for them when I learned that there were moving from their condo to their first house. But I was sad that my twice weekly walks with Lucky were coming to a halt. It's not the loss of income that I mourn - but rather I had developed deep affection for both Lucky and Scarlett - and would no longer be seeing them on an ongoing basis.
For now, I am experiencing Lucky withdrawal. I am thankful Lucky & Scarlett are still enjoying life, but there's no denying the aching hole in my heart.