Goodbye darling girl

A celebration of my beautiful Shanti

Today, I've shared a couple of Notes introducing Artemis, our new kitten. She's beautiful and we're in love. I may be on the path to cat lady now, so smitten am I!

But I can't share the joy she is bringing without honouring my other four legged girl this week, and the grief I am feeling over her at the moment.

If I was still on Facebook, this would probably be a Facebook post. But I'm not, I'm here.

So may I tell you about my Mother's Day, 2017, and the unexpected gift that arrived that day?

Mother's Day (UK), 2017.

None of my three sons were with me. The youngest was at his Dad's, the older two all grown up and living elsewhere. I was looking forward to my friend coming to visit. She was bringing a rescue dog she was giving some respite from the dogs home. Just for a visit, for me to say hello and consider maybe possibly looking into adopting one day.

Mother's Day (UK), 2017.

The day I unexpectedly acquired the dog who would become my daft, infuriating, darling girl.

The dog who arrived as ‘Snowflake’, and stayed as ‘Shanti’.

The dog who left us as unexpectedly as she arrived, lying on the floor in the vets with me sobbing into her fur, telling her how loved she was.

I hadn't known how fragile her beautiful heart had been until it was no longer able to keep her alive. She was in the kitchen, hovering around my feet as I peeled carrots for lunch, her whole being throbbing with expectation, waiting for scraps, the insatiable hunger of a once abandoned rescue dog. Then she went into the living room where she lay down panting hard, and never got up again. As I drove her to the vet, part of me knew I wouldn't be bringing her home, but that didn't ease the shock when the vet confirmed my worst fear.

The decision to let her go rather than opt for surgery was the second hardest decision I've ever made. But it wasn't really a decision. Thousands of pounds I don't have to put her through an operation she probably wouldn't survive, or at best would have gained a few months of being very ill before an undignified death didn't seem much of an option at all. The vet didn't recommend it. So I let her go without pain, and with her dignity. And she took a bit of my heart with her.

I miss her company on walks around the streets of my home, and in bed where she would get under the duvet and snuggle down with me. Walking feels vaguely pointless at the moment, and my bed feels far too big now there aren't four furry legs hogging three quarters of it.

I miss her following me around, always just behind me, or right where I need to be. I even miss her haranguing us for our food at every meal. What do I do with leftovers and scraps now there isn't a greedy mouth to put it in?

I miss her face, those big brown eyes that never seemed to stop looking at me. Her tail that wagged her happiness when I came home, or downstairs at breakfast time. I miss her belly that she loved me to rub. I miss her.

She drove me mad at times, but she gave me so much joy. Her name means ‘Peace’, but outside she gained a bit of a reputation for being the sort of dog other dog owners try to avoid. Reactive, loud, strong and aggressive isn't a great look in a dog, especially not a big dog. We both had to learn to accept a muzzle for a while to keep everyone safe.

But she was the softest, daftest creature and I loved her dearly. She is deeply missed and will never be forgotten.

Shanti Pants, my wonderful, infuriating, daft, beautiful girl. Thank you for coming into our lives and gracing us with your boundless, utterly unconditional love. You brought so much to my life, and I hope I made you happy. I love you!