Well, catalyst is progressing true to form: on Saturday we had to put down our lovely, very elderly golden retriever.   She was nearly 17, an amazing age for a large dog.  But what a star!  Waggy tail and great affection to the end.  Her back legs failed some months ago, and we’ve been hauling her around in a harness.  But when her front legs seemed to be failing too, we thought it was time to call it a day. 

The trouble is, dogs are like people.  Oscar says they’re better than people, and certainly their loving is not nearly so complicated.  There’s a flavour, an aroma to each of them which is irreplaceable.  Is that their vibrationary essence?  I suppose it is, the indefinable character of each one, which makes them so special in the family dynamic.  Our family feels incomplete just now.  We haven’t got used to Jemima’s absence, I keep expecting to hear her asking to be taken out, or coming round for more food, or barking at the temerity of anyone who puts anything through the letter box.  Our other retriever, Jumble, who was brought up by Jemima, is miserable, subdued and not himself.  It’s the love and loss dynamic that makes life here so difficult and so beautiful at the same time.  It’s horrible now, missing her, but her presence in our life was wholly positive, her lovely playfulness and sweetness of nature, her intelligence and patience.  My grandmother used to say that the pain you experience when a dog dies is a small price for the pleasure they give us. 

Some people claim that dogs are angels in disguise, and really they are a model of loving and faithful behaviour.  But it’s more than that, they teach us about grief, and what it means, without devastating how we live, as the death of a parent or child would do.  And when they’re elderly and rather incapable, as Jemima was, they teach us about cleaning up bodily messes, about putting them first, knowing that they depend on us.  So much of love is about caring for others. 

My very elderly mother, who lives with us, is rather like Jemima in many ways.  Can’t walk much, a bit deaf, but mum also has virtually no short term memory and we have to repeat everything constantly.  It gets very wearing, even irritating, but when I think how much we’ve been missing Jemima, how our family life feels different, I know how much more I’ll miss my loving, sweet tempered, generous, and kindly Mum when she dies, and it makes me want to value each moment more here with her. 

Thanks Jem, for that last, unlooked for, gift.