We got Ozzy, a 9 week old rescue Pomeranian who'd been dumped at a kill shelter, adopted by a rescue service when Sophie was 12. She'd always been my lap dog, a toy Poodle, only dog in the house.

But she was all heart, shared everything with him (even her food), annoying as a puppy can be to an elderly dog.

When she died he was 9 months old and he whined as we placed her in that hole under the pear tree, tugged at the pillow case she was layed on trying to pull her up and out.

He barely slept, didn't eat for days. That summer, as the flowers bloomed - they all come at different times - I'd cut a few of each and bring them to her grave. Little Ozyy followed and watched.

He'd sit close, quiet while I cried.

One day while I was weeding, I cut off some dead flowers, tossed it all in a pile. I looked around and where is Ozzy? Dragging the half-dead flowers to Sophie's grave, then sitting waiting for me to come.

A year passed after Sophie died before I adopted Rudy. He doesn't understand why, but he knows we do not play under the pear tree - Ozzy forbids it. And we still put flowers there whenever we have some, and Rudy knows to leave them there.

They love, they grieve, they get annoyed. Differently maybe than we do, but they feel.