There is just still too much grief in my soul to tell you much about the kids or myself right now. The best I can say is that we’re taking one day at a time. So far, that has been enough. I know it won’t always be, but for now, it will have to do. Instead, I am going to give you an update on Duncan and Henson and how they’re faring.

The very best thing Steve ever did for this family was get it two very smart dogs. However, I’ve spent a good deal of time in the last three weeks cursing about very smart dogs, too. There are four beings mourning in this house, and one happy-go-lucky little putz who is very confused.

From the moment the breeder opened the door and set Duncan on the floor, he only had eyes for Steve. I will never forget his fat little puppy waddle right over to Steve, who immediately started playing fetch with him. When the little duck toy came my way and I dared to touch it, I got a look that I’ve seen repeated many times since. Who did I think I was to interrupt their play? Dunc was a dog with a purpose and his purpose was whatever Steve wanted him to do.

It took me a while to figure out how Duncan always seemed to know when Steve was going hunting in the morning, instead of to work. Steve stopped for a coffee on his way to work, but when he was home and heading out, he brewed it himself. Dunc quickly realized that coffee smell meant Dad was home, and when Dad was home there was fun to be had. If Dad didn’t come take him out, and instead went out hunting alone, he would sit in his crate and complain just loudly enough so that I couldn’t sleep, but not loudly enough to wake up the whole household. I would frequently turn on my phone recorder and send Steve five minutes of dog whining, just so he could share my pain. He only ever responded with laughing emojis. He had created a little monster and he knew it.

The night that Steve died, Dunc and I sat together long after the rest of the household had fallen asleep, waiting by the door for footsteps that weren’t coming. With every gust of wind, or creak of the house, Dunc picked up his head hopefully. I did not think it was possible to feel more hopeless than I had just hours before when I broke my children’s hearts, but holding that dog and trying to calm him and praying for him to understand managed to knock me down even more.

I reached out for professional help quickly. Steve and Dunc had made many friends in the Airedale circles already, and people were only too happy to try to help. For a full day, Dunc carried around one of Steve’s shirts. He still sleeps with it every night, resting his head upon it and no doubt dreaming of the glorious hunts they had together.

Since Dunc and I already had a tenuous relationship at best, this sudden change did not sit well with either of us. For his own safety, Dunc had to understand that he had to follow my commands now, and I had to be ruthless in enforcing them. Spoiler alert: We both failed miserably.

All the while, Henson was his playful puppy self, not understanding why no one wants to play fetch, or why Duncan suddenly has no patience for his nonsense. It doesn’t keep him from trying, though, and his antics have definitely helped lighten the mood around here, as well as take the edge off the tension that Dunc has been holding on to.

Dunc on the other hand seems determined to push himself harder than ever. Within the week, he had chased a cat up a tree and in the process of trying to climb the tree himself, he managed to catch his paw between two branches, and gave himself a nasty sprain.

Vet visit number 1. Two days later, while on a short walk around the yard, he and Henson happened upon a squirrel, which they somehow cornered in an old quail pen. I could see immediately the change in Dunc as instinct took over and he went to work. Henson wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he followed Dunc’s lead and between the two of them they worked to keep the squirrel cornered. Figuring I was watching the best therapy Dunc could get, and that the squirrel was in no actual danger, being inside the pen, I sat back to watch. Until suddenly, there was blood in the snow, everywhere.

And, we had vet visit number 2, which resulted in an overnight stay, internal sutures, and staples. And a paw that needs to be bandaged daily, meds that need to be given, and a dog that needs to be “rested.” I’ve spent many hours lying on the floor with him, asking him to please start to trust me and go a little easier for the time being. Unfortunately, I know I have to earn his trust, and it won’t come easily.

I have always loved animals and been around them my whole life. I’ve often preferred their company, believing them to be way more intuitive than many of their human counterparts. Watching Duncan grieve is one of the most painful experiences I have ever had, because there is nothing I can do to help him understand that his person is never coming back.

We’ve all seen way too many movies where the family dog dies, leaving a family bereft, but I haven’t seen one where the dog is left to carry on alone. I’m not terribly anxious to write that story either, because right now it feels like it starts off sad and will get sadder. It’s going to take a lot of work, and a few minor miracles to change the narrative, and give Dunc the storyline he deserves.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.