This isn’t goodbye…
In our lifetimes we are expected to experience the loss of friends, family and of course our pets.
Loss can mean simply losing touch, perhaps a falling out or, right at the other end of the scale, it can mean death.
I, like everyone else, have been through all of these experiences, sometimes life changing, but the most recent one hit me like a ton of bricks straight through my heart.
Our West highland Terrier, Megan, spent the last 16 years of our lives being a very special part of our family unit.
This tiny little dog had such a huge personality and even larger heart that I used to worry so much about the day that we would eventually part ways.
That awful day happened earlier this year and the sense of hurt and loss that me and my family experienced was like nothing before.
We’d moved from Wallingford to Cholsey, downsizing to a small 2 bedroom bungalow.
Life hadn’t been kind to the Hall family but we had decided that this was the best option for now.
My dear Mum had passed away just before Christmas and even though she was now with Dad, her soldier boy, it had hit us pretty hard.
Mum had succumbed to Vascular Dementia, just like Dad, and the demise had been painful and agonisingly slow.
Some years earlier we had brought her dog, Jock, down to England and he and Megan became firm friends.
Jock was a lively little terrier but was being ignored and was proving to be a trip hazard to Mum’s live in carer.
Megan accepted him into the clan and the two were inseparable.
Not long after the move, we noticed that Megan was acting differently.
She spent longer in the garden and seemed to become distant to us and even Jock.
I guess we would normally have paid more attention but moving house is always a massive effort and perhaps if we had acted sooner, well I wouldn’t be writing this right now.
After a few weeks of this odd behaviour, it was clear that Megan was seriously ill.
She was 16 years old and wouldn’t touch her food and often would just walk out into the garden and just stare into space.
I had read that this was how old dogs behaved before they died.
The night that we found her shivering in a crumpled heap, we knew that Megan was probably not going to recover.
Over the next few days, we discussed taking her to the vet but never seemed to take that step.
We were seriously broke and I guess we knew that even with a massive spend, the vets would not be able to do much.
So finally, I made the trip and the vets agreed that Megan was fading fast.
I called Tom who came home from work and that afternoon the 3 of us and Megan made the final journey to the vet.
I will never forget the tears that my wife cried as Megan looked around the tiny room as the nurse administered the lethal does into her blood stream.
Our darling little dog looked around the room and stared at each of us before her body went limp.
I had heard that some owners do not go into the room and that vets had written about the way that the poor pet, being put to sleep, would look around for some kind of confirmation from their owners.
Remember that we are their whole life and we really should be there at their last moment on this earth.
I also cried and when we finally left that sad little room, I knew that life would be very difficult to deal with for a long time.
Carrying her basket back to the car and opening the front door, seeing Jock’s face, well I will never forget that terrible experience.
We paid to have Megan cremated and when I went to collect the box, even on the 5 minute drive to the vets, I cried like never before.
Christ, I’m crying right now as I write this.
I think it is because we had so much unconditional love from Megan that we are mourning for so long.
We took her with us to Thailand when she was about four years old and every evening at 6pm we’d take her for a little ride on our scooter.
She would love this little adventure and woe betide us if we were more than a minute late.
We even had a special word to let her know it was time
Kuchinarai!
That was it, she’d be there and it was time to get on the yellow scooter and raise hell in the neighbourhood.
She’d bark at the fierce stray dogs and they would give chase, sometimes a little too close for comfort.
Those days seem like another lifetime as I look out of the window now and wish with all of my heart that we could have Megan back, even if just for a few hours.
I’m not an overly religious man but I pray sometimes that the Rainbow Bridge really does exist and that Megan will be waiting for all of us, faithfully the way that only pet dogs know how.
Megan my darling, that day we said goodbye to you wasn’t forever – we were really just asking for you to wait for us – please look over us and visit us in our dreams as I know you will.

