Running In Fields To Rainbows

Four years ago, if you had told me your pet had died, I would have kindly expressed condolences. “I’m so sorry,” I would have said. But I never would have been able to imagine your pain, because I had never felt it, never known it.

But I know now.

Little Annie Medlicott came to us when she was 14 weeks old, the last of her mother’s litter. When we brought her home, she trembled in her crate for days, afraid to come near us. But over time, she warmed, although always wary around men.

We had her right before lockdown, with no knowledge we were about to be trapped within four walls for months. I remember teaching her to go outside to toilet, lugging her up and down stairs every hour because we were so afraid of her stressing her hips, while our youngest child was still only crawling.

I’d bring Annie down the stairs, then bring baby down the stairs. Annie up the stairs, then baby up the stairs. Annie out to pee in the pouring rain, baby out to let Annie pee in the pouring rain. And so it went.

During lockdown, she grew to love us, was attached to the hips of five humans all enamored with her life, her golden coat, her timid nature. She was our sanity, getting us out on walks, even when we didn’t feel like it. Lifting our spirits, unbeknownst to her.

Often, the boys would ask when Annie would die. Would it be soon? “Oh no,” I’d say. “She’ll be around until you’re very big teenagers. No need to worry.”

She loved water. She loved branches. She loved scraps of food. She loved cuddles.

She hated sweeping brushes. She hated knocks on the door. She hated the car.

And then she got very sick, very quickly. And two weeks ago, we had to make the painful decision to lay her to rest. We brought her to the vet on a Monday, fully convinced she was just having an allergic reaction to medicine. And by that evening, she was gone, only leaving her paw prints and a tuft of hair. Only three years old.

I haven’t lost many people very close to me in my life. I’ve been very lucky in that regard. I’ve never lost someone I lived with day in, day out. So the grief that hit me after she died was new to me. It hurt, physically hurt. My eyes burned. My stomach ceased.

There is an article I recently read about research confirming that for most people, the loss of a dog is comparable to the loss of a loved human. But unlike a person, we aren’t prepared for how to deal with all the emotions after the death of a dog. Actually, we (I), can feel embarrassed by it. After all, she was only a dog. And yet, I grieved, even though it felt silly to break down in tears each time I was asked about what happened.

I replayed all the good moments with her, flicking through my phone looking at the pictures she was always in, just there. She was always there, in the background. She was part of our family, not as a child – she wasn’t a child, I know that. But she was an integral part of our family unit.

In her passing, there have been moments of sadness that strike as a wave. Not telling the kids to put their food away. Not hearing a bark when we open the front door. Not taking her to the garden every morning, every evening. Not linking her to the lead for a run. Not leaning against her warm belly watching a film.

Watching children grieve was a whole other element to this scenario. Their grief unbridled, visceral, without holding anything back. They mourned their girl.

Our best friend has been missed.

If there is a silver lining, it is the kindness of people. Since she died, I’ve gone walking in the same park I used to walk her.

“Where is Annie?” people asked, because she was that loved, that known.

I’d shake my head, my eyes brimming. “She’s gone.” And they cried with me. Hugged me. These people, some of whose names I don’t even know. Such empathy.

We’ve got another little pup now, Betsie. A working lab, same as Annie, but black, so as to be different than Annie. She’s precious, and playful, and gentle, and quickly becoming part of our family.

For all the pet-loving people reading this, I would think you have felt similarly, or fear the feeling that may come if your pet were to die. And I hope you know now, if you did not know already, your pain is not ridiculous. It is a sign of the immense love for a creature who loved you without restraint.

On a very light note, I have had a lot of kind comments from people about how Annie is now running in fields after a rainbow. Which I found a bit funny.