This dog house has been a permanent fixture at my wife's parents' farm for the entire time I have been with her. When I first visited the farm the inhabitant of said canine abode was a lovely fellow named Chauncey. He was good with cattle, he was good with kids, he was good company, well, he was just good. He was older when I first met him and he passed by the time my daughter was five or so.
Next up was Rex, who was good with cattle but I don't think much else. I remember the parents cussing him out frequently because he kept wandering off to visit the neighbours and they had to keep retrieving him. He wound up chained up a lot of the time because of that, until he got too old to wander that far. He's gone now as well.
It's not a pleasant thing to outlive pets and the empty dog house bothers me. I miss having a dog there even if I am allergic to them and the last one wouldn't stop jumping on me. I guess what is even more unpleasant is the realization that if there is a next dog, I may not outlive it. It may outlive me.
That's another type of emptiness.