My dog died yesterday. I got a phone call from my mum at half six in the morning as I was rubbing sleep out of my eyes and frantically getting ready for work. I didn’t have time to process the news at first. I just said ‘oh, alright, can I talk to you later, I’m in a rush’.
It wasn’t until I was sat on the train to London Waterloo station, completely surrounded by people, that my throat decided to close up. Then there was an unusual ache, deep in the pit of my stomach. An ache that I haven’t felt for a very long time. I glanced at all the commuters around me and tried to hold back my tears so that they wouldn’t look at me strange or try to give me any unwanted awkward comfort, but it didn’t work, and I found myself silently sobbing into the palms of my hands. I can’t remember the last time I cried.
Molly was only 8. I don’t know whether that’s young for a dog, but it’s too young for me. She was the cutest, most sensitive little thing I’ve ever known. She was special, and I’m not just saying that because she was mine. The runt of the litter is what they called her when we picked her out of eight at 6 weeks old. She was so tiny. Everyone warned us that she’d grow up to have hundreds of problems, but we wanted her anyway. She was so alive with curiosity – it was completely enchanting.
Her curiosity only grew as she did – strong and healthy – as well as her big heart. It’s amazing how in tune pets can be to your emotions isn’t it. It’s impossible to feel sad about anything with a huge golden retriever sat on your lap. She gave the best cuddles, even when they were unwanted. No matter how many times you told her to get off the sofa, she’d persist to climb back up and stare into your soul with her big brown eyes. I could never resist those eyes – she had me wrapped around her fingers.
Molly died in her sleep of unknown, natural causes. I find solace in the thought that she was peaceful until the very end, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less, and the thought of my mum finding her like that breaks my heart even more. My mind can’t even comprehend what it’s going to be like walking into my childhood home and not seeing her there, waiting by the door. And I don’t even want to think about how our other dog Sadie – her sister, is feeling right now.
I know this is a slightly unorthodox post for me, but it’s hard to write about anything when you heart is filled with such sorrow, and seen as talking isn’t really a strong suit of mine, I thought I’d stick with something I know well – writing.
“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to the silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.” – Oscar Wilde