It's the quiet, the hush of early morning without a silly, furry greeter at my bedroom door. No letting him outside first thing while I go make myself a cup of coffee and, just when I've made it perfect, just as I'm sitting down to write in my morning journal, he barks to announce that he is ready to come back inside.

I had to put our dog down a couple of weeks ago. Anyone who has been through it knows, it is brutal, a tough decision. The tearful nuzzles, leaning into his neck, inhaling the dog aroma I've been smelling for over 11 years. "Love you, sweetie. Thank you. Love you, baby. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye." Brutal.

Now that our dog is gone, the house is quiet, less tossed around. I pulled up the runners all over the house that slowly took over our floorspace. Little by little we had to lay them down because our neurotic boy was afraid of the vast expanses of shiny hardwood floors. This made our home look like a crazy Turkish rug market. As our boy aged, he would carefully tiptoe on the runners because his tall Doberman legs would keep sliding out from under him, leaving him splayed out, pained, and embarrassed.

So, our home is cleaner, more organized now. But less joyous. Less silly. There's less laughter at our personal little clown and all of his eccentricities. But we still talk about him, sharing stories about him. Every day.

As a little homage to our sweet dog, Taj Mahal, I am re-posting the blog I wrote about him a few years ago. It's about his dual life, toggling between our suburban life and our farm life. This is one of the selected, edited essays that will be in my upcoming book, What the Farm? There will be new essays, too! And the book is about to go to print! I'll keep in touch about the book release date.

Hope you enjoy "Country Dog, City Dog."

Now go hug your dog.