It’s been a week now since Sam died, and I’m slowly getting less obsessed with it. But I don’t have much to blog about, because blogging – for me, anyway – requires a bit of an outward focus. I need to be observant in order to have anything to say. Otherwise, I’d be writing about my own internal landscape all the time – my feelings, my thoughts, my dreams, what I had for lunch – and I know there’s only so much you can take.

For the past week I haven’t been very observant. I have been very internally focused, and feeling sorry for myself because my dog died.. Nor have I taken any photographs in the last week, because – and I know this is strange – the last photograph I took was of Sam’s dead body, and now I feel weird about my camera.

I had to go back to work on Monday (I took Thursday and Friday off), and oh my god I did not want to be there. My coworkers seemed to split into two groups: those who wanted to ackknowledge Sam’s death and say sympathetic things, and those who didn’t. It really didn’t have anything to do with how they feel about me or anything like that, it’s just that some people don’t know what to say and they don’t want to say the wrong thing so they say nothing. I understand that because I’ve been there and felt that.

And the fact was, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want them to talk about it. I wrote about Sam’s death and I took solace from everybody’s condolences online, but I didn’t want to talk about it in person because I knew I would cry and I didn’t want to cry in front of people.

So on Monday I went to work – against my will, I absolutely did NOT want to be there, and I felt surprisingly hostile about having to be there – and I was just short of rude to the people who said anything about Sam. “Thanks,” I said, “But I don’t want to talk about it,” and I turned and walked away from them. Okay, maybe that wasn’t just short of rude. But I knew they understood. One person waited until Tuesday and then brought it up, and I almost cried, so she stopped in time.

I put them in an awkward position, and I feel bad about that.

I was also in a weirdly angry mood on Monday. First thing in the morning I could hear one of my coworkers going on and on about the changes to the parking lot, and her voice seemed to be getting louder and shriller until it felt like it was sawing through my nerves. Within twenty minutes I was ready to plunge a fork into her throat just to make her voice stop. And I like her.

Tuesday was a little better. By Wednesday I was feeling more or less human again, almost fit to be out in civilized company. Still sad, still precariously balanced on the edge of tears, but no longer homicidal.

Dave X dropped by the office on Wednesday afternoon. He finally decided it was time to pick up his winnings from the Dave X Change Challenge, which ended on December 31st, and which he won by a landslide (something like $240 to $28). I ran into him at the library a couple of weeks ago and asked him when he would be picking up his $28. Now the thing about Dave X is that he really needs the money but he’s very shy. I had jokingly told him once that when he came by to pick up his winnings, we’d have a photographer and one of those giant cheques waiting for him, and we’d have a little presentation ceremony. The prospect terrified him: he abhors attention.

The last time I saw him he suggested that I carry the money around with me until I ran into him again.

“But Dave,” I said, “It’s a box of change. It’s heavy. I don’t want to carry it around all the time on the off-chance I might run into you.”

Well, he must have been desperate yesterday, because he finally came by the office to get it. I was in Louise’s cubicle, trying to help her solve some goofy Word template problem, and I was wearing her red fire marshall hard hat. I glanced up and there was Dave X standing on the sidewalk under a dripping umbrella, trying to get my attention. I scooped up the box of money and ducked out into the rain.

He’s up to $58 so far this year. “It’s getting tougher out there,” he said, “There are more and more people looking for change.”

Then he asked me if I’d seen Ken lately, because he hadn’t.

“No,” I said, “But I was talking to Kay and I mentioned running into you at the library; she wants you to drop by.”

“Have you seen her lately?” he asked.

“No, I was supposed to go to her son’s birthday party on Sunday, but I couldn’t because my dog Sam died.”

This put poor Dave X on the spot. He struggled to say the right thing, but he got a little flustered and he managed to blurt out the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry,” he said (and he could have stopped there), “But maybe you could get a better dog. I mean another dog, not a better one. You could get a better dog and maybe you could name him Charlie, after your dead dog.”

Even though one would be hard-pressed to think of something more inappropriate to say, I thought it was sweet. Good old Dave X. I didn’t tell him my dead dog’s name was Sam, and I didn’t cry.