I got a message from Sarah the other day which read “I know how much you much miss Red, I feel the same way about the dogs I’ve lost.”

The message came out of the blue, in response to something I was writing about Zinnia On social media, people make assumptions about other people, often projections inspired by their own feelings.

I loved Red very much, but no, I don’t really miss him much at all. I think of him from time to time, but my hands are full with wonderful dogs and animals.

I speak to Red every few days at his gravesite, say hello, and move along. His spirit left the farm a long time ago.

Red and I had the most wonderful time together, he was unlike any dog I have had or will have. Loving him was enough. I don’t need to grieve for him also. My dogs are a joy to me, I will not make them into misery.

I know I’m odd on this subject, but I really don’t spend much energy missing any of my dead dogs, as much as I cared for them when they were alive.

Why would I? There are wonderful dogs all around me.

I love having Zinnia, and Bud and Fate. They are three wonderful and loving dogs, with tons of personality. We all have a blast together, doing the things people and dogs love to do – walking, ball throwing, swimming, hiking.

I’m not into looking back, it would make me bad and I am not into nostalgia. And I don’t mourn my lost dogs for a year, that feels morbid to me and narcissistic.

Severe mourning is commonplace with people and dogs, extreme mourning is usually about the people, not the dogs, according to the many shrinks I talked to for my book Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die. I prefer to love the dogs I have, not grieve for the ones who are doing.

And I hope I never go near that Rainbow

Bridge, I’d be horrified to spend all eternity with a bunch of Labs and border collies eager to work and chase things.

I want my dead dogs to be happy, free, and living the life of dogs for all time. It would be selfish for me to think of them sitting there for years, waiting for me.

It’s painful enough to have a loved dog die. It doesn’t need to be a pain that endures forever. Pain and loss are inevitable. Suffering is a choice.

I have a great crew of dogs. In the morning, Zinnia creeps up on the bed while I am sleeping. Although she is big and clumsy, the creeps up between me and Maria ever so quietly and gently. At some point, I open my eyes and she is dying almost on top of me, waiting for me to move.

Then, tail-wagging she crawls up the rest of the way and showers my face with classes. She is irresistible. Then, emboldened, she does the same thing to Maria. She has become our alarm clock.

It’s a great way to get up in the morning. Why would I be missing Red?