Been thinking a lot lately of this concept of the unconditional love that dogs give us.
It’s supposedly the reason we grieve so much when we lose them, as I have been since our little black dog left me and the missus a few days back.
I’m visiting the older brother mid next week and when I told him I was pretty much devastated – as is Carol – over the decision by our amazing spoodle Rudi to selfishly cross over that rainbow bridge earlier in the week, this brave Vietnam veteran quite rightly told me to man up.
“Maybe we’d better make it Wednesday week then,” I replied, voice wavering and new tears forming at her memory.
Rudi might have been fairly old – 15 – and had spleen and liver cancer and the vet told us we’d lose her sooner than later from this common silent killer of old dogs but the callous way she left us still hurts. She had a turn, bounced back quickly to give us false hope and then went down hill even faster. It adds to the pain.
Was she even remotely aware that we thought we still had a couple of years of grey-nomading with her ahead of us? And the absolute hit she would have been around evening fires at holiday parks all around this big, brown, land of ours? And how fat she would have gotten being fed morsels by everyone there? To have died from obesity and too many pats from strangers instead of some common bloody cancer!
Is that partly the reason for all the sorrow? And is that sorrow misplaced?
The bloody little black bugger had probably the happiest doggy life in history and we shouldn’t be the least bit sad for her long and happy life ending. We’re sad because she’s no longer around to give us joy, that unconditional, undivided love? If that’s so, strange creatures, us humans, right?
I suppose the grieving process might move along more smoothly if I’d stop wandering around the house calling “Rudi! Rudi! Rudi! My little black dog!” just loud enough that Carol doesn’t hear me and complete the process she’s had under way for the past 30 years trying to understand the sort of man I am.
Okay, clearly an emotional sook having enormous trouble manning up.
But Rudi was an amazing dog. Yes, I know we are a nation of dog lovers and there are millions of us firmly of the belief that our own canine family member is incomparable; without peer.
But there was only one Rudi and her unconditional love knew no bounds. Some days ago when it was clear she wasn’t well, I went out the front door for just a few minutes and when I returned she carried on like I’d been gone for weeks. Whimpering with joy and doing catherine-wheel spins on the dining-room carpet.
I love cats too but Rudi’s reaction I guess sums up why dogs are truly furry family members. Dogs wag their tails to greet you; cats if they were large enough and you annoyed them enough by pulling their tails would eat you. It’s a subtle difference.
But I do want to address this notion of a dog’s unconditional love.
What about the unconditional love I gave Rudi, hey? And Carol too. Let’s never forget that, please!
Who flopped her over and gave her countless tummy rubs while watching the news? That’s unconditional love, surely?
Who explained countless times during those tummy rubs: “Do you know how many dogs have died throughout the world just while I’ve been doing this for you? Millions probably, either beaten or starved to death just for the cruelty of it or killed to provide the evening meal!”
Did she ever let on that she appreciated all that and how lucky she was? To say just once: “Would you like me to give you a tummy rub now, daddy?” Never! She’d just sit there soaking it in, just staring at me with those baby browns of hers. Were she a cat, she would have purred.
Ditto for the countless times she got the tummy/back simultaneous, two-handed massage for a wee while as my way of apologising every time I had to step over her, given her uncanny, canine ability to always flop down where she’d be in the way. That’s unconditional love.
Who threatened her with “Do you want to be put down?” every time she wouldn’t stop barking at people and dogs in her park outside our back fence. But who never once followed through with the green-dream threat despite the fact that she read right through me and never stopped barking. Barked even louder, actually, the cheeky little bugger. That’s unconditional love.
I’m missing terribly those baby browns that stared up at me from under the kitchen or dining room table or on the lounge as she demanded my last two bits of bacon, sausage, steak, whatever! She always got them. Now surely that’s unconditional love?
“Rudi! Rudi! Rudi! My little black dog!”
And on the subject of food, how do you think I’m going to feel the next time we get a supreme pizza from Pizza Capers and she’s not there, baby browns blazing, demanding to have that small sliver of pepperoni I might eventually be lucky enough to find there? That’s unconditional love!
And who’s going to miss terribly saying “gently! gently!” before she inevitably lunged forward and almost added my fingers to the morsel being offered?
And who’ll be sad the next time when I only eat half the stewed and rather tasteless roast of the day at my local rissole and wrap up the three slices left to take home before realising there’s no point any more in that exercise.
“Rudi! Rudi! Rudi! My little black dog!”
And how long is that sadness going to last when I swing my legs out of bed in the morning and still instinctively take care to avoid that little black dog that always went to sleep on the floor alongside my bed? Okay, she might have always been there because I left my dirty undies, skid marks and all, and smelly shirt and shorts there for her to lie on because I knew that made her feel secure. That’s unconditional love, right?
“Rudi! Rudi! Rudi! My little black dog!”
And when am I going to stop feeling sad that I won’t be filling up her waterbowl at night any more? Or putting up just one more time with her bait-box breath that could suck the oxygen out of a room? Or scraping her shit off from between my toes after some gardening?
“Rudi! Rudi! Rudi! My little black dog!”
“Rudi! Rudi! Rudi! The Wonder Dog!”
Bloody hell, I miss her to bits. And while I accept I need to man up, has anyone got any clues about how a 72-year-old sentimental sook can achieve that and how long it might take?
Don Gordon-Brown
PS: You’d still be reading this two hours from now if I mentioned everything Carol also did to make Rudi the luckiest dog that has ever lived. And that we were the luckiest humans ever to have shared her life.
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