A very special day
A day of paradoxes, contrasts, sadness, gratitude, deep emotion and, I hope, relief. Yesterday, 27thSeptember, 2019, I had to say goodbye to my beautiful, gentle, playful little dog, Mouse. She came to me from Bosnia, bringing her sister with her and they have been my companions for the last two years and then some.
Mouse had been getting skinnier. She was always sleek, a hunter, a streak of speed whipping through a field, a skinny-waisted, lizard-bellied little wriggler. I’d noticed it. The vet had noticed it too, last time we went, but she was happy, healthy, silky of fur, eating and pooing, generally enjoying things. It did get a bit more extreme, and I joked that maybe Baba was eating all the dinner, again, she was a happy girl and her coat was so shiny I could do my makeup in it. If I did makeup.
She’s also been eating grass and throwing up a lot, but dogs do that, right? And having her tail under a bit more, but she’s an anxious little thing and we were not at home – we were in a much bigger city place with all the noise and all the unfamiliar smells.
Finally, we went to the vet. He suggested keeping her in for tests but I was reluctant, so he gave her an anti-nausea jab and sent us home. When I took her in a second time, 5 days later, she stayed. Tests were thorough but unclear, so her next stop was Langford referral hospital. She was there two days. Cancer of the biliary duct, liver, pancreas, small intestine, and further. She’d been slowly declining without my noticing and that is one of the things for which I am immensely grateful.
She was not in pain. Perhaps discomfort, and I think she was nauseous a lot, but she ate and played and chased and pounced and pooed and weed and bit her sister’s face. So instead of diagnosing her early and having months of wondering ‘is she ok, is she suffering, is now the right time?’ we had one day of that.
Four days of worry and sadness and denial and hope that it was something simple that would just clear up, and one day of having her home, loving her SO insistently, holding her, stroking her, kissing her, talking softly to her. She was held by me, her beloved Alyson and second dogmama to her, Michelle McFarlane, who came out specially to say goodbye. Mouse had been very subdued but she had a proper bout of joy when Michelle arrived, pawing her face, lick-biting her nose.
We had the help of the brilliant Lucy Guy, who held her, calmed her, talked to her and gave me information about what she was expressing. It really helped. With this, I knew to hold her gently, keep things quiet, talk to her and reassure her, and give all this to myself as well.
Anyone who met her knows what a treat she was. A dog who made eye contact all the time, though sometimes with Princess Diana coyness, who would back onto your foot with her bony little arse and sit on it, or on your lap, if you were sitting on the floor, drape her body across you if ever she could. Who’d leap up and lick your nose, put her paws in your face and generally love the shit out of you in her playful way. Her favourite place to sit, when in Alyson's company, was on her chest, gazing into her eyes, interrupting everything else with her actual body.
Off-lead, she’d take herself 20 metres away and sit in the grass, like a cat, watching. When it was time, she’d arch her ample ears and start to tense, even to wiggle, laser beam eyes on her sister until the moment came and she’d pounce, growling like a little hell-grown pig demon as she made contact.
And when it was time to go home, she had a habit of allowing me no closer than a metre and a half. Then she’d skirt off and keep that distance. The only way I could entice her was to lie on the ground on my side, or totally give up physically and let things be. Then, if she felt like it, she might come for some serious loving and I could catch her, but any move to grab would result in a proper escape.
Over the last year (and I’m now wondering whether it was linked to her illness), she enjoyed nothing more than flipping onto her back in her waisty harness and being dragged along the grass. She’d collect her legs in a little stack above her and ride the ground. It’s not something I ever videoed properly, being always the dragger (she weighed very little but she still took some effort to haul along) and this, I am sad for. It was a sight that would make park-walkers laugh and point, and, I’m sure, for some, be concerned for her welfare, but she adored the ride.
She was SUCH a lovely girl. She had such a pleasing little form, with ears as big as her face and a surprisingly human expression (complete with massive dogness). A play-bow champion and a consummate paw-giver.
She and her sister did a huge amount of affectionate morning bitey-face, which involved grungeing and emitting creaky-door-meets-Chewbacca noises, knawing on each other’s limbs, flouncing at each other. They fought way too hard when off-lead, but always stopped for a little pant break and a sprightly wag. They were always together and often slept with their arms around each other. Mouse, if she felt like it, would land her arse on Baba’s head or torso and just have a little sit. They were a yin/yang pair, Mouse almost black and Baba mostly blonde. They looked a real treat.
It’s immensely sad, and I miss my irreplaceable, sweet little girl dog, and it’s ok. I can focus on missing her, and sometimes, I'm afraid I will, and I can also focus on the absolute gift that it was to have her. Because it was.
Together, these dogs have burst my heart wide open. I’m definitely a lot more loving and affectionate since knowing them. They are my twins. They were. And they still are, only one of them isn’t here any more.
I'm grateful, with every ounce of me, to have had that ridiculous little Mouse-dog in my life. Thank you, Mouse AudreyHepburn Princess-Di Fruitbat Claybourne of Bosnia for all the very special days you gave me.
