Image by George Eastman House via Flickr"I'm a dog person," I told my client. "I'm going to cry right along with you." And I did.
I have cried with clients before. I have cried with women whose fathers were dying, couples whose children died, and once even at a wake for a client who died. But mainly, I cry when people's dogs die.
I can only hope that it's therapeutic. Because I really have little choice except to proceed. I mean, what am I gonna do, say, "Sorry, I don't 'do' dogs"? Because really, I do dogs. I am, after all, a dog person.
I feel your pain.
I have always had dogs. There was a dog in the house before I was born. I got a puppy of my own for my seventh birthday. Starting with her, I count six who have blessed my life with their love, companionship--and in some cases, sense of humor--over the years. They have, variously, served as playmates, bed-warmers, bodyguards, co-therapists, physical fitness trainers, and travel companions. I loved every one, each in her or his own way. I have grieved the loss of five, and I can tell you that it never gets any easier.
We're supposed to be objective professionals. But lose your dog? I will lose all objectivity.