They say that when you buy a dog that loss is always on the horizon. They don’t live as long as us generally and (if all goes according to plan) in the end the day will come when you say good-bye.
This week, we said good-bye to Morecambe. Those of you who have followed our travails over the last few weeks will know that he has struggled with separation anxiety and we weren’t quite sure about the way forward. Especially when someone kindly pushed an anonymous note under our door basically saying “Shut Your Dog Up”. (Are Christian Curses unacceptable? Asking for a friend).
It was a long weekend last weekend. We tried a dog behaviourist, a Doggy Day Care lady (she ended up with a bitten thumb for her trouble) and lots of friends and we had to reluctantly accept that there was no way forward. The vet said that he felt that there was a neurological problem and that his age meant that to put him to sleep was the kindest decision. Well it might be for Morecambe buster but we have been devastated. HOH – who took him to the vets to do the deed – has been particularly traumatised.
People are very kind aren’t they. You watch 15 minutes of Brexit coverage and you could be forgiven for thinking the country is full of self-serving lunatics who don’t care about anyone but themselves. Well I have a house full of flowers and bagful of “so sorry” messages that prove otherwise and I for one am jolly grateful.
At the moment, we still miss him like mad. We miss walks, cuddles on the sofa (if he was in the mood) and saving the last bits of food for him. But we know that we gave him a fantastic life and eventually we won’t feel like this. Eventually.