Time is strange
It’s three years now since Angel joined our family. How weird time feels in relation to Angel’s presence in our home. In a sense it feels that our life was never without her; from the moment of arrival she slotted in perfectly. But she came along four months after the death of Twinkle and I know with every sense I have that they were not here at the same time. The Twinkle years were distinct and my memories of her are firm and true.
I do like however, to imagine every now and then what our days would be like if they were here together. Although they never cohabited, there are shared, uncanny behaviours and traits. At 4pm to 4.30pm every day, Twinkle would stir and start to bark, pointedly, at me, always at me, for her dinner. None of the other dogs in my life have ever done it with such clockwork precision. Except Angel. She does exactly this. How comforting this haunting sense of Twinkle is.
I named Angel in tribute to Twinkle. It was the ears that did it. Not really, of course I’m being frivolous. But I did name Angel in her memory whose personality is as large and bold as a starbright sky. And she’s grown into her gigantic ears.
Angel is the last dog accompanied home and guided by Renae. Now, where three years with Angel seem to stretch much farther back, the last eleven months without Renae feel exactly that. Eleven months of a Renae-shaped hole in my life. Month after month of crawling towards the first anniversary – Christmas Eve – without her. First anniversaries are hard but always good to get past. As we then know we’ve crossed off all the firsts which we must do without the one who has gone.
Like the first springtime with no Renae strolling every sunny morning around the garden, after climbing onto the wall for a better view up the lane. None of the dogs do this. But she did. Every morning when it was warm, Renae loved soaking up the sun’s warmth while checking her territory. Then, no Renae joining us on hot summer afternoons, sensibly staying in the shade while refusing to stay in the shuttered cool of indoors. She had a confidence and determination we badly miss.
No Renae helping Michel collect the first walnuts of autumn. No Renae bossily rounding up and controlling the games of Albert Claude with his visiting cousin Chester.
First years, peppered with stinging memories.
The large aching painful space left by Renae remains and is hard to heal. But, time ticks on and life continues and it’s not just about what or who, is missing. Life is full and rich and I know this every day. My dogs show me that. They share their simple wonderful presence. I know it is perfectly healthy that I feel the loss of one of them, still pointed and painful eleven months on.
