Yesterday was one of the hardest of my life. Saying goodbye to you. Taking you to that clinic knowing we would be leaving without you and never have you with us again. Your eyes watching me, trusting me, loving me. I hope I didn’t let you down.
The house is too quiet today. For such a little fellow, you filled my life. You were with us for only eight years, a short but bright life.
I remember driving to pick you up. I was excited and as so often happens, you chose us. You came with us without looking back and I don’t remember an occasion over the past eight years when you showed any fear.
You confidently looked out on the world and you took me by storm.
From the beginning you stubbornly taught me that you would not tolerate closed doors. We compromised. You slept outside our bedroom door. You were happy. From that moment on you taught me to understand what you wanted and what you didn’t want. It didn’t mean you always got it, but you certainly tried!
You entertained us and brought life into our home.
2 years after having you we brought Zena into our family and you lovingly accepted her. You became her playmate, her parent, her protector and without any trace of jealousy you let her sleep in your bed and play with your toys.
You had such a big heart.
But your big heart was not enough to keep you going with all the health trials we have been through with you.
You bravely dealt with kneecaps that slipped out, shoulders that were sore and regular ear infections. For seven years these issues were painful for you at times, but the times in between were pain free and good.
Recently though, the pain has been a constant with you. We saw it in your eyes. The distress of constant itching, ear infections, the discomfort of arthritis. We saw it and did our best to help.
We tried special food, shampoos, medicines. We saw you struggle and it broke our hearts to see our brave boy dealing with all of this. You had such a gentle nature and you deserved a stronger body.
I thought we were coping, not winning, but coping.
When I woke today you greeted me and brought me Big Dog, I didn’t know it would be for the last time and how I ache this morning as I get up and you’re not there to greet me.
We took our walk and we had a good time, though you couldn’t do the full walk any more. Again, I had no idea it would be the last walk we took together.
I washed the sores around your face and we spent lunch together, you cuddling up on my lap as usual.
It was then that I noticed that your ear was worse and you had scratched it until it was bleeding. I called the vet and made an appointment.
By itself it was treatable. Taken with everything else it was an indication that your body was breaking down. How much could we put you through? How much pain, suffering, medications and procedures could we expect you to have?
If by a surgical procedure we could have made you better, we would have. I knew walking into that surgery that I would face the same question from the vet that he had asked me the last time I saw him. How was your quality of life? This time as I looked into your beautiful brown trusting eyes I couldn’t say it was good. It was deteriorating.
Suddenly the decision was made and everything happened so fast. You came home for a big dinner and a lot of spoiling and to give us a chance to say goodbye.
Even now I find it difficult to grasp. You are no longer here. The house is quiet. I can put the television on without you rushing to the screen.
If I could bring you back I would, but I would want you back healthy and fit.
As I walked from that clinic I wanted to rush back and take the decision back, to have you with me again. If we could turn back time, I would go back eight years my little pal.
But I can’t. We only had a short time together but you were so special to me. A furry soul mate.
I want you to know my friend that you have been a great companion. You could not have been better.
You have been a great pal.
You have been my partner in this blog and great company throughout your years with our family.
When I struggled with my health you would curl up beside me, undemanding and giving.
We will always remember your quirky ways.
We will always remember the way you howled if you felt you were being ignored.
We will remember the way you loved television and I will feel a pain when your favourite shows come on. Who will keep the bad guys away now?
We will remember the way you hated getting your paws wet and always insisted on walking on paths, even in the garden.
We will remember the way you always sat on your mat with that expectant look on your face whenever it was time for a treat.
We will remember the way you enjoyed your occasional sausage treat and the way you loved going into the village and I’m sorry that we didn’t take you more. I had hoped to take you when the better weather came but it was not to be.
Through this last night Zena, The Princess, who you looked after so well has been crying. Her crying turned to howls early this morning and as I got up comforting her I found the tears coming again. It hurts not to have you here. We all miss you
My precious boy, I will miss you for always. We have a Zac-shaped hole in our lives and it will always be there.
For those of you who have followed this blog I thank you for your encouragement and support.
This blog was truly inspired by Zac and his sometimes solemn ways.
He had a way of looking at me and the things around him which such a deep and thoughtful expression and I used to wonder what he was thinking, hence this blog.
This will be my last blog. In memory of my wonderful pal.
I have had other dogs but none as special to me as Zac.
Don’t look back my little Pal, look forward to the next adventure and know that if possible we will be with you again one day.
From the one who is proud to have been loved by Zac The All Black – a very wise and gentle Tibbie.