There is an empty space in the middle of my life.

I'm out of sync. My rhythms don't jive. My yellow Labrador Retriever, Sophie, died last week.

When you take an animal into your life, you are signing up for heartbreak. If all goes according to nature, you will experience an entire life cycle in years rather than decades. When that beloved being dies, everything changes — one's inner compass must reset and day-to-day living goes through a radical transformation, particularly if you have been living one-on-one with your four-legged friend. That is where I am as I write this.

The story began over 10 years ago: Sophie was a blond beauty, a yellow Labrador Retriever, who was bred and trained to be a guide dog for the blind. As often happens, that vocation didn't work out. She was just too social — so, she was decommissioned at the age of 3 after working with a blind woman in Toronto. I had been on a waiting list for one of these prize beings since shortly after the death of my yellow Lab, Knick. A visually impaired client, who had a seeing eye dog, told me about the program for decommissioned and retired dogs. I signed up, and renewed my standing on the list 3 years in a row.

I was 9 months into my relationship with Christo, when I got the call: "Your dog is named Sophie. Come pick her up." A few days later I drove up to Yorktown Heights, determined to like her, no matter what she looked like or who she was.

I walked into the room and couldn't help but exclaim "You are so beautiful! You are so beautiful!" It was truly love on first sight.

Sophie re-ordered my life. Once again, I was a man with a dog, a man who had to get home to walk her, a man who kept her well-being in my mind at all times.

Fortunately, when I took her to the crisis center where I worked part time, she won them over immediately and was invited to come to work with me. Sophie became part of my private practice, my groups and part of the community of clients that we served. It was a perfect fit.

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