Tuesday 4 September 2012

Dearly departed

It's a very sad day for my family and I, as we've had to say farewell to Lily, our kind, gentle and ever so eccentric Fox Terrier. She didn't seem quite right yesterday, but I was still shocked to see her lying there this morning, mercifully peaceful and happy, but very much headed for whatever existence waits for us beyond this.

Lily was the second Fox Terrier we'd had and judging by our experience with them both and also the tales shared by other owners (note 'tales' and not 'tails' - that would be too odd), they seem to be a very intelligent, determined and slightly loopy breed. They are certainly full of character and if you've ever read the exploits of Montmorency in Jerome K Jerome's 'Three Men in a Boat', you'll know what little rascals they can be.

When I was younger, we always had dogs and other pets, but for some reason their passing caused me little problem back then. I guess it's true that children are all the stronger for dealing with their emotions in a very upfront manner, externalising problems through a spell of yelling or screaming, then when thoroughly cleansed, letting go and moving on.

Obviously the above example is far from perfect and even as youngsters, many of us will have held onto issues that may hold great sway over us well into adult life. But if left to grieve in a healthy way by understanding carers, children do seem to be remarkably resilient at dealing with loss of this kind.

As I've got older though, I now find the passing of my furry friends to be far more painful. I'm really not sure why this might be. Maybe they've become a substitute for children or other significant relationships and consequently when they die, it's far from saying goodby to 'just a dog'.

At one time I would've never chosen to own a single pet, so I can totally understand the lack of empathy some people show at the loss of a beloved animal. My mum and sisters were the real animal lovers and it was somewhat grudgingly that I would take my turn at caring for these various beasties.

Over the years though, bonds were formed and I grew exceptionally fond of these dear little creatures with their own, very distinct natures and personalities. Lily for example was a very gentle, outgoing dog who loved to mix and socialise with everyone. If she were human, I'd have compared her to someone with a quiet confidence, very intelligent yet also with her head in the clouds most of the time. She was very sweet and I will miss her greatly.

It's been quite an unfortunate year with regards to some of our animals. As well as Lily, we also lost another dog (of the same age of 105 in dog years), my dear little cat, a very grand guinea pig and a beautiful pony. Once the initial shock has passed, life goes on of course. But I still find myself at times with terrific heart ache at the thought of never seeing, cuddling, feeding or even clearing up after them again.

Sometimes these feelings just arise by themselves, apparently unprompted. At other times, particular things trigger them in my memory - certain times of day, smells, special occasions or even something daft like when watching a film.

I saw Puss In Boots the other night (the Shrek films and those like it are a bit of a guilty pleasure for a childless man of my age) and those dear little animated cats really made me feel a deep sense of loss for my own. The clever observations of feline behaviours portrayed so skilfully by the animators of the movie, really seemed to strike a chord.

I'm so grateful to Lily and all of our other dearly departed friends who I hope are now skipping around some sunny meadow together somewhere, reunited and in their prime. They have taught me a great deal about what 'love' really means and how relationships can be full of happiness and peace, without any expectation or grasping at particular outcomes.

I'm not sure if I'd ever be capable of experiencing the ideal of 'unconditional' love in a relationship with another human, but with my animals, so far as I can tell, I have done so.

If I come in to find one of them has decided to use the indoor facilities, rather than go outside and do their business in a cold and wet garden, I still can't help but love them. Likewise, even though I may come down from bed a grumpy, dishevelled wreck, there are tail wags and smiles aplenty from my dear pals. Even the experience of keeping chickens has taught me what affectionate and loyal little characters they can be.

Spending time with these wonderful beings has been such a privilege and I'm so glad to have had that chance. Each time one moves on, I find myself being extra attentive to and appreciative of all the others. But of course, why should we wait until such a sad day for that to happen?

Death is a funny old business. It's the only thing that we know for sure that we shall all face someday, yet usually it is pushed way back into the dark and dusty corners of our minds.

Despite its inevitability, it somehow still always manages to cause us to feel a shock when we hear of the passing of someone we either know and love, or even someone we think we know, but don't really - e.g. the recent deaths of Neil Armstrong and Max Bygraves.

We seem to need to be jolted out of our everyday existence, which we usually try to make as comfortable as possible, to get a taste of reality. Death really is an uncomfortable subject for most of us though, hence the need to erroneously file it away in our minds under "won't actually happen to me".

In many ways, it can be gift, a real reminder of the fragility of life. The impermanence of ourselves and all of our relationships, are what makes all of them so special and precious.

When the kids are driving you up the wall or your dog's just peed all over your new carpet, it's so easy to want to get angry and shout at them. But if you can somehow stop that automatic reaction and take a couple of deep breaths whilst remembering that someday, you and they will have departed company, the extra perspective gained will cool your ire and bring you great relief. You may even find yourself laughing at just how ridiculous it is to take anything that seriously.

Although it's not so comfortable, Lily's passing today does serve as a reminder to me to try and resolve to fully live in and appreciate each moment and all it contains. For who really knows what the next one may hold?




3 comments:

  1. Aw sorry to hear this Toby, hope the blog has proven cathartic for you. Pets do become far more than just animals in our lives and turn into pseudo children whether you have the human versions or not! X

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Maggie, think it has definitely been helpful to write this. Whether it be dodgy deodorant or the death of a pet, externalising my thoughts about it in a blog certainly seems to help.

      Delete
  2. Very well said, happy memories of dear departed animals, each with their own personality.

    ReplyDelete