I am so very grateful for all the kind things that have been said about Roley, both here and on Facebook – I hope you’ll forgive me for not responding to each of you individually, but please know that I have read every word you’ve written, and have been reduced to tears many times by your sympathy and understanding.
R didn’t get to see either yesterday’s blip or my Facebook wall until he stopped for lunch today, en route between his morning meeting and donating blood, and he told me that he was also very nearly brought to tears, in the middle of Starbucks, reading all the comments. He said “You do know some lovely people,” and he’s right: I do.
We still can’t quite get our heads around the fact that Roley isn’t here. I told one of the neighbours this morning that we had “lost” him, and as I said it I realised that this is actually what it feels like – if I could just go and find him and put him back in the middle of the family where he belongs, everything could go back to normal. I know of course that this is a stage in the process, and that I just have to put up with feeling like this until my emotional brain catches up with the objective one and accepts the fact that he’s gone. But it’s going to take a while.
Things that are different here now include:
The fact that we no longer need to keep the sitting room closed off at all times to prevent Roley from peeing on a wickedly expensive hand-knotted rug.
The fact that we won’t have to mount a permanent guard on the Christmas tree this year to make sure that Roley doesn’t pee on it. Well, fair enough, I can hear you thinking – it is a tree, when all’s said and done. It’s an [i]artificial[/i] tree.
The fact that we no longer have to put Roley out in the garden last thing every evening, whatever the weather, to minimise the chances of him peeing on the snug carpet overnight.
The fact that I’ll no longer need to keep industrial quantities of bicarbonate of soda and white wine vinegar in stock, for dealing with the consequences of Roley’s determinedly casual attitude towards the concept of house-training.
The fact that a dog walk will now be more of a walk and less of a drag, and the village won’t have to listen to my exasperation any longer. “FFS Roley!! Come ON!!! No – we’re not going that way! No we’re NOT. We’re going THIS way! Get ON with it!”
The fact that we’ll never get to use any of his stupid nicknames any more:
Roles
Fat rolls
Fat man
Fatsicle
Roladex
Dex
Dexie
Dexington Dogbreath
Dogface.
He answered to all of them, by the way. When he could be bothered.
