Goodbye to a Dear Friend

I have sat staring at a blinking cursor for what could be 15 seconds or 15 minutes. I have mulled over opening lines and deleted words and no matter what I write, in an attempt to sound deep or wise, nothing works. So I will do my best to speak plain.

At 4pm today, as I sat in a room of strangers, in a business I don't care for, earning money for men I don't even know, my best friend of 17 years took his last breath. My dog, the best thing in my life, finally succumbed to the passage of time. The puppy that wandered into my house with a ribbon and tag around his neck on Christmas day all those years ago wouldn't be there when I came home ever again.

I have been lucky to rarely experience the death of those dear to me with the maturity of a grown man. But I do not handle death well. I shutdown. Bury everything and become a shadow of my usual self until my mind wanders enough to forget how to feel about it. I can't bring myself to talk about it, so much so that even saying the words is a struggle. So if you'll allow me, I'd like to say what I can now without moving my lips.

That Christmas morning is mostly a haze now; addled by time and a childish attention span. I can't remember what I wore or what time it was or if there was even a doorbell or just a knock. All I remember is being told to get the door and doing so willingly since we always had a big family Christmas. I walked down the hallway, opened the door, and in trots a tiny black and tan Jack Russell terrier with a square present tag tied loosely around his neck in gold ribbon. The first thought to pass through my mind and almost reach my mouth was "When did you get a new dog?". Then there, in gold ink written it the tag it read:

Dear Liam
My name is Josh. Debbie and Richard have taken me away from my mummy and I need somewhere to live. Will you look after me.

He was mine. I became a boy and his dog.

Later that day my father returned from a fake pub outing with another Jack Russell terrier in his arms called Holly. And I loved them more than anything. We spent hours in each others company both at home and at some stables my mother worked at. I learned their mannerisms, their quirks, their individual barks. The way Holly's ears always laid flat to her head making her look forever timid (even though she had the temperament and quickness of a hunter). The way Josh would half howl, half woof at anything that drew his attention then simply make an oof sound when he couldn't be bothered. Holly would bark at any stray leaf or person that passed by the window but Josh would only bark when someone was at the door. More often than not when I was in my room I would rely on their barks and howls to signal either someone at the door or the phone ringing.

Years later we took in another dog, a Border Collie named Sally who had been abused most of her life. Finally amongst a caring family, Sally began to act more like the small dogs that shared her home, often attempting what we affectionately called 'the slow climb' wherein she would inch her way up on to the sofa with her forelegs then in one final push, throw the rest of her weight on to your lap.

They were never trained properly, not in any traditional sense, but I could whistle for their attention and call them to me when needed. For anyone else out there who knows the feeling it's very connecting. Feeling that they can understand you and you them.

Years passed and eventually Sally, the eldest of the three, began to succumb to her age. She had become gradually weaker until eventually one morning she couldn't support herself and we realised it was finally that time. The harshest blow came three weeks later when Holly suddenly took an odd turn and while overnight at the vets, passed away in her sleep. It was unexpected and shook me to my core. I went to the vets with my mother to see her one last time and immediately regretted it; so unprepared for seeing her body that I had to leave the room and resigned myself to sit quietly in the car.

My closest friends know that I feel more for animals than people. Whether that makes me a bad person I don't know and I'll let you be the judge of that. Yet even after losing two of my little pack I still had my dog. My Wa we had taken to calling him after saying Josh-u-wah. My best friend who for a large portion of his life had been on steroids due to an illness that struck while I was at university. The illness gave him constant stomach issues but more often than not the pills gave him renewed energy and life. With an appetite to match. My greedy pig somehow gained a bottomless stomach and always one to sniff out the tiniest crumb he never relented in his quest for another bite.

In the last year time began to catch up with him as he slowly lost most of his sight and some of his hearing. His sense of smell though never wavered and still he found a stray biscuit. He had gotten weaker and now seemed like the old man his coat made him out to be; the tan giving way to white as he went grey with age. I had begun to dread any unexpected phone call from a family member once I moved out. I would hesitantly answer each call expecting a tearful voice on the other side only to be greeted by the cheerful voices of my parents or sisters. I took to making sure I spent time with him whenever I went home with the first thing I did upon walking into the house being to walk right up to his bed, letting him sniff my hand so as not to spook him, then just sit stroking him for a little while. We couldn't play any more but I was content just knowing he was there. Any time I had gone to stay with family he had come with me and after the loss of Holly and Sally he had taken to sleeping on my bed, eventually having his own bed in the room once he was too old to jump up. He was my constant. With his own schedule of of when to eat, when it was bed time and when to wake up. He still slept in my room after I had left.

This past week I was told that he had struggled somewhat, having what appeared to be two fainting attacks. At this point, even after preparing for the worst and knowing that it would soon be time to say goodbye, I froze up. I was torn between seeing him one last time and not wanting to see him struggle to catch his breath. Thankfully after much goading from my family I travelled home to see him one final time. There was no plan to speak of, I simply did what I usually did, let him sniff my hand and stroked him, only this time I sat next to him for seven hours reading. Content that he was there next to me. A good book and the dearest thing in the world to me. Now as I sit here, having finally given in to the tears that have threatened all evening I realise it was perhaps the best seven hours I could hope for.

Goodbye Josh. You were the best thing in my life and I will always miss you.