Eulogy For Dog

We had wanted a puppy and while at 10 months old she was not quite that, we saw her in the rescue home and we knew she was right for us.
She was a liver and white Springer Spaniel, real name Midi (not too big, not too small) with a slender, tentative form.
I respected her privacy so online she was known as Dog- many of you, Dear Readers, have watched her grow up with us, and will be sorry to learn that her adventures have ended now: please read on, come with us, it will be okay.
The hesitancy young Midi Spaniel held towards her new home was reserved for indoors.
Outdoors she was absurdly reckless, usually clumsy. She pelted over barbed wire, through thorns, jumped five bar gates; she threw herself into the sea, the river, the lake, the muddy puddles, rolled merrily in dung- she hated the bath.
She did not much care for the company of other dogs, though with persistence she learned tolerance, and once fell in reciprocal love.
She adored children.
Children could be trained to play fetch for hours, they dropped or outright divvied up their food, they shared her delight in mud, sand, and wild water.
She had a particular relationship with each person, so we all have Dog stories-
She stole and ate a large delicious pasty (posthumously forgiven).
She rolled in dead whale blubber.
She caught a squirrel under her paw but wouldn’t drop her ball to bite it.
She fell off everything.
She was a smiler.
She would pat us with her paw for attention, often in the face.
She once saved a life, alerting me to a choking care client. She had special care for the vulnerable- was even caught consoling her nemesis Cat during a stressful journey.
Midi-Dog was part of our lives, our adventures, our family. We knew her likes and dislikes, we knew her smell, her bark, the way her tail went around in circles when she ran.
The quirky energy of her is imprinted on us.
As she aged, she slowed.
Her limbs twisted with arthritis, she was clumsier than ever, always under our feet.
She was venerable.
The younger dogs of the family deferred to her, no matter how frail she was. The younger rumbustious children stroked her head with unexpected gentleness. Her toilet habits were not intended to be impolite, so we cleaned up after her, never cross.
She had grown into us so much that we couldn't imagine ourselves without her.
Then comes a day when we know she is dying, and we do not let her down.
We do the best palliative care. She has home visits from family, we read her all the messages that are sent. She is bed-bathed, fed water from a pipette, kept warm and comfortable, and unstressed. She trusts us entirely.
She has had such a fun life!
On the sofa, with me and Mr at her side, her breaths become gaping, her heart slows.
Only when she is gone do we break the quiet with our tears.

When we break the news, many more tears follow.
We said goodbye to her physical presence, sadness balanced with love and stories.

With children and grandchildren, that evening, we sat out on our land and watched the moon rise, and shared our remembrances.
We each (you as well, Dear Readers) have our own ghost of a Dog to trot at our heels till we also are gone.
Let us keep the fun running, no matter how clumsy.
Let us too leave love and stories.