Losing Your Little Shadow
Specky came into our life in the usual way for a young family – he was a gift for my son Lachie’s 10th birthday. His aunty Susan’s dog, Molly, was about to have her first litter and naturally he asked, “Can I have one of Molly’s puppies for my birthday?”
It was August 2007 when this little bundle of happiness burst into our life and, as many mothers do, I became his primary carer. He quickly learnt that I was his main source of food and cuddles. As a young pup that cried at night, the only place he felt comfort was on my shoulder, his little head nestled into my neck, his chin under my chin. Until he died on January 21 this year, my shoulder remained his safe place, which is how he came to be known as my little koala bear.
Specky was pure joy. My sister-in-law chose well. She had observed Molly’s pups closely and plucked out the one that had the best temperament. He loved us unconditionally and had a way of lifting our spirits. He was observant and knew everything that was happening. We had to be very careful what we said around him in case we inadvertently got him excited or worried.
He was my shadow and seemed to know when I needed a hug. When I was anxious or sad, I would bury my face in his beautiful white poodle fur and the negative energy would leave my body. Within minutes he had calmed me down and I was once again ready to face anything. Specky got me through the emotional highs and lows of menopause. He was my constant through that hell and I can’t imagine what it would have been like without him.
Until last year, I spent half the year travelling for work. Specky would be the first to greet me on my arrival home. I would peek through the glass panes at the sides of the front door and he would be in one of his two favourite spots, either at the top of the stairs or nuzzled into the landing, waiting patiently for me to return. He would bound down the stairs and hurl himself at me as I opened the door. I will miss that.
As I moved to working from home last year, Specky spent most of his time either guarding the door to the study while I worked, or at my feet. He would stay there until I stood up again, even if I was on a board call that lasted for hours. Every now and then I would look over at him and he would be looking at me. He calmed me and made me happy.
Specky was only a year old when I first thought about his death. I was comforting a twentysomething colleague in my office, Ben, who had just learnt that the dog he had grown up with at home had died of old age. Ben could barely remember life before his beloved dog and his pain was palpable. I thought then about the impact that the end of Specky’s life would have on Lachie and his brother, Jackson. What I didn’t realise is that there would also be a large gaping wound in my heart.
“He was my shadow and seemed to know when I needed a hug. When I was anxious or sad, I would bury my face in his beautiful white poodle fur and the negative energy would leave my body.”
Last week we were at our holiday house on the NSW South Coast. Specky had had a wonderful week with us doing all of the things he loved but at 13 and a half, his little body just gave up on him and one morning he had a seizure.
It was devastating. Unimaginable. The lovely vet who took incredible care with him, and with us, explained that we had him in our lives for longer than we should have, given that he had been diagnosed with diabetes when he was 10. Our love and care extended his life. Her words were comforting but nothing can mend the broken heart that comes from losing a family pet. The grief is incredibly painful. My husband has been my strength in this nightmare.
Telling our sons, who were at home in Sydney, was awful. I wished that I could have been there to throw my arms around them. Instead, we had to use words. And it was difficult to speak. Lachie wrote a beautiful song that evening to express his feelings for Specky. Jackson was comforted by his girlfriend, Anna, who was also saddened by the loss of the little dog that loved her from the first day that we met her.
ABC broadcaster Virginia Trioli wrote a beautiful article about the loss of her dog, Bunk. It arrived in my Twitter feed at exactly the right time, a couple of days into my grieving for Specky. I then noticed a number of other women in my age range sharing their grief at the recent loss of their dogs. Sydney Morning Herald journalist Kate McClymont tweeted about her loss, TV producer Basia Rendell posted about her recently departed beloved Dolly and my girlfriend Lorraine is still grieving for her Shaggy. Our hearts have been hollowed and our routines have been broken. We have spent our pets’ lives worrying about our children’s future pain without considering our own. And then it hits like a hammer.
My loss is still very raw, so I am not sure how long it will be before I stop reaching for my little man, who slept at my feet, first thing each morning. How long before I stop glancing under the table for him, which is where he would sit while we ate, hoping for a loose titbit. He smartly worked out the boys were more likely to drop their food, but that I was always a sure thing for a little treat. He also knew that when my husband started filling the laundry tub it was time to hide. He hated baths.
We find ourselves still checking the time each morning and evening because Specky had to have daily insulin injections 12 hours apart. Our days were built around those 12-hour timeslots for more than three years. My husband and I constantly discussed his appointments to the vet, for regular testing of his blood sugar levels, and to the small animal hospital, where his cataracts were removed and vision restored just two years ago. I feel a little lost without that structure and empty without his cuddles.
Specky’s collar tag is now on my keyring so that I will have him with me in spirit. He will always remain a part of me.
Words_ Marina Go
Photo_ Supplied