Taking more stock - again
Stock taking moments
When I saw Tanya’s heading, Taking Stock, I thought of many times in my life when I’ve done this. Working in public libraries, I often did it in the original sense too. Just now, I’m sitting feeling exhausted. Why? Because, for the fourth time, I’ve welcomed a dog into my life and this is the first week, with all its challenges. I’m thinking about my previous three Hearing Dogs and how my last 30 years have been enriched by them. This one, Labrador Zen, will do too, it helps to take stock of the times with the others. My last one should have been with me longer, but I had to hand him back to the charity when I was too weak to look after him properly while recovering from the stem cell transplant I needed as part of the treatment for terminal myeloma. I’ve been in remission now for almost two years and part of my journey there includes daily walks, now long enough to give a dog good exercise. My previous two each lived for 15 years and my taking stock means asking myself, not for the first time, this question.
What is it about the death of our dogs that strikes so hard? So many tears, so much sorrow. Does the weight of all our other losses compound this one? Yet we still consciously put ourselves in the position where we will experience it again. My first dog was a Jack Russell called Rufus who ran in circles before collapsing due to a brain haemorrhage. I was just eight and the loss really passed me by. But my Sam, who arrived as a puppy when I was ten and lived for 18 loving years, now his death was the third in a year so full of death of people close to me that it seemed more than coincidence. My next dog was my first Hearing Dog, Lucy the magnificent, the greedy, the affectionate, the clever and the beautiful golden retriever collie cross, who was my companion at home and work for 15 years. When the time came for her to go, I waited for the vet to come to administer the injection as she lay in her favourite sunny spot in our seafront garden and once it was over, stayed there immersed in sorrow that was surely much more than just for her.
Returning to the question of why we continue to replace our dogs (and cats and others pets) in the knowledge that we will almost certainly have to say a final goodbye to them, as I watched Eve, my second Hearing Dog, frolicking in a river on holiday a few years ago, the answer seemed clear - the joy outweighs the sorrow. Eve died in January 2018. By then, Percy Poodle had joined me. He’s no longer with me, but is still busy happily alerting another deaf person somewhere in the north of England. When I became ill with cancer, and needed several months of intensive treatment, I felt unable to give him what he needed so I sadly and reluctantly gave him back to Hearing Dogs. He was lovingly fostered - thank you Sue for those special months - before moving on. Now I'm in remission and much more active again, the dog shaped hole in my life calls out to be filled...welcome Zen.