The world is split into those who love them, and those who don’t. I tend very much towards those who love them. The relationship between a dog and the humans that surround it is very strange and, in my experience, one that is utterly unique. It’s not “unconditional love” as some people suggest but a symbiotic partnering where each side gets and gives immense pleasure from and to the other, a pleasure which exists nowhere else.
We play together, walk together, sit together, lie on the floor in an evening together, and, as a result, spend huge amounts of each day together. The relationship becomes a major part of one's life. With our dogs, watching them running free on the empty Norfolk beaches is one of the most pleasurable things in my life. The place itself is quite beautiful, and they seem to show a simple and utter joy there. They look fabulous as they bound around and play in the sea, and for a short time while this is going on, you might think you’re in Paradise. I know, to most people, this is all probably inconsequential stuff compared to the “big” things in life, but I’m not most people. I’m me.
But nothing is ever perfect. Today, out of the blue, our senior dog collapsed and died. On Sunday, she was tearing around in the snow in the sand-dunes on Holkham Beach over in Norfolk. Yesterday, she was running around like a puppy while we walked near home for miles.
Now, she’s gone, and I feel quite, quite lost.