Well, Alice is coming along very well indeed but yesterday the full realisation of her huge operation caught up with me. We had not slept well on Sunday night, it was too warm, I'd thought. However, as the morning passed by I realised my fears and worries over Alice's medical treatment, had gone much deeper with me, and it was obvious to me that I was in an acute state of post-op stress and fatigue. The remaining day passed by in a mild haze, with me prone on the sofa.
A few years ago, my own dear dog Hank, a great companion and survivor to the age of fifteen years, became ill and very low, the condition brought about by his great age, and sadly I had to let him go. It was a very bad time for me and, accordingly, my suffering was very pronounced.
We become so very attached to our pets it's no wonder we feel their distress and they too, sympathise with ours. The seem to know instinctively when we are not well, or saddened, or hurt and angry, and they'll stay as close as possible to you, offering their support and affection; and we're so glad of their presence in difficult times.
Dogs are taken into care homes and welcomed when visitors arrive with a pet in tow, for their arrival cheers and gladdens rheumy eyes and troubled hearts, and to pat a dog brings an instant connection with earlier days, perhaps even back to childhood's carefree days and happy times, and the troubled soul is refreshed and enlivened.
When my children were growing up we had three cats, Liquorice and Fudge and their kitten Ruggles.
Liquorice died of old age, slipping out of the barely opened back door into the garden, where he curled himself up into a comfortable position and went to sleep. Dear old Ruggles, who was my very
particular favourite, and whom, I have to confess, I'd over-fed to the point of his having gum decay, was run-over on a May Bank Holiday by a speeding driver; he was so remorseful over his lack of care and deeply sincere for our loss. We buried Ruggles in the garden beneath a flowering shrub and we very sad.
Fudge came with us to a new home a few years afterwards, living to a ripe old age. One day she was found shivering on top of the tumble dryer having gone into a state of "tarn", believing herself to be sick and ailing. I wrapped her up in her blanket and stayed close beside her all afternoon; by next morning she had completely recovered. She eventually died at home in a very peaceful state after sitting in the bath for comfort's sake; she had actually asked to be put there, and as I sat near her, her pupils dilated and she stared at me through twin pools of amber light, smiling at me and saying goodbye. I had, oddly at this point, got up to get something from the sitting room and when I returned, found Fudge had slumped into a dejection, leaving me heartily sorry for my absence.
It was sometime later I discovered my instincts had been absolutely right, for it is well-known by aficionados, that cats communicate with us through their eyes, just as Fudge had done with me.
We buried her beneath the kitchen window.
By this stage I just had Hank with me and when I removed to Oxford he came too. But that's another story.........!
Alice is asleep beside me as I write this blog. She really wants me to take her out but she must wait for her stitches to be removed before this can happen, and that won't be until after next Monday. Longed for time comes so slowly, doesn't it, yet, at other times, when one is busy and occupied, time passes by very quickly, an illusion, of course, but very real?
Our pets are enormously important to us and, of course, they're family members, and we share the good and the bad times with them, which is so rewarding for the whole family.
Daisy
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