The Language of Loss

Pardon me for not being very fluent,
I am finding the lump in my throat
Interferes with any coherent utterance.
I am having trouble referring to her,
She is my dog, or was my dog,
Rationally, I know she was,
I had the honor of sitting with her,
Doing the one last thing I could.
But, really, I am having a problem,
Saying she WAS a good dog.
She is very present in my mind.
I am still stepping over her in the dark.
Assuming I am being watched from across the room.
Freshly shocked when I see the empty spot.
So, please, forgive me.
I am just not fluent in the language of loss.