A Sniff, A Snort, and A Salute.

So. The Food Giver is sad.

The Tall One who opens the magic food portal has been… different. There’s more leaking from their eyes. They’re using the “inside voice” outside. They keep holding that weird black rectangle and looking at pictures of The Smelly One. You know, the one who smelled like old leather and kibble crumbs and always had the best ear scratches.

The Smelly One is gone. I know this because:

1. The car left and came back without his smell.

2. My investigation of his favorite chair now only reveals crumbs and a profound sense of loss (and also crumbs).

3. The Tall One keeps saying “I miss him” between the eye-leaks.

As the resident four-legged therapist (my fees are paid in cheese), it’s my duty to guide The Tall One through this. Humans are bad at grief. They forget the important things. So I’ve developed a guide.

Step 1: The Sympathy Sniff
Humans try to hide their sadness. We dogs? We smell it. It’s a tangy, salty odor that means “needs urgent licking.” When you see your human sitting still for too long, perform a mandatory snout-to-hand inspection. If it’s wet, it’s working. If it’s dry, lick it until it’s wet. This is science.

Step 2: The Forced Walkies Protocol
Grieving humans have two settings: “frantic cleaning” or “statue impersonation.” For the latter, you must employ the Forced Walkies Protocol. Whine at the door. Stare. Nudge the leash with your nose. If that fails, the nuclear option: lay your head on their knee and release The Sigh. The big one. The one that says, “I too am perishing from boredom, and also I might pee on this thing you love.” It works 100% of the time.

Step 3: The Wardrobe Redistribution Program
The Smelly One left behind his most valuable artifacts: his shoes and socks. These are not for mourning! They are treasure. They are the Holiest of Chew Toys, imbued with the scent of a thousand walks. It is your sacred duty to liberate one sock and parade it around the house. This does not say, “I am disrespectful.” It says, “I am keeping his memory alive… and also tasty.”

Step 4: Demand a Second Dinner (In His Honor)
The Tall One might forget to fill the bowl. This is unacceptable. A hungry dog is a sad dog, and we can’t have two sad beings in one house. Sit by the bowl. Stare. Thump your tail once. They’ll say, “But Barney, you already ate!” Look them dead in the eye. This is not about hunger. This is about tradition. The Smelly One always snuck you an extra biscuit. You are honoring his legacy. It’s what he would have wanted.

Final Thought from My Food Bowl:
We dogs don’t have words for “gone.” We have smells for “was here” and hopes for “will come back.” But we are experts in “right now.” Right now, your human is sad. Right now, they need a cold nose to the hand, a head in their lap, and a friend who doesn’t need words to understand.

Also, right now, they probably need to be reminded it’s 5 PM. Which is, objectively, Dinner Time.

Go be a good human. I believe in you. Now, about that cheese fee…

Woof,
By a Good Boy & Part-Time Life Coach