I struggled for a while about whether I should write this short post, but I think it's relevant.
On Sunday 26th July, our wonderful companion of 18½ years, Scruffy our Parson Jack Russell terrier had to be put to sleep. Oh how we miss him. Scruffy had an epileptic fit and a stroke (the last and worst of many over the last few months) on Sunday afternoon and was in a terrible state. I didn't know what to do (although a few years ago I'd have acted more decisively). I phoned Pam, and told her what had happened through floods of tears and she came straight home and took us to the emergency Vet. I think we both knew that we would be saying goodbye to Scruffy, and I think he knew it too. He was quite content in my arms - though he was usually stressed when travelling by car. The upshot is that the Vet told us that there was nothing they could do for Scruffy, and that it would be best to relieve his suffering. Pam took him from me and went with the Vet, where she held him until he went to sleep and embarked on his final journey. How we miss him.
The bereavement of losing a pet is very real, and nothing really prepares you for it, but I believe that, in a strange way, my dementia has helped. I am single-minded now, and somehow my short term memory loss seems to allow me to function without thinking of dear old Scruffy too often. I don't worry about making sure that he has enough food and water, that the back door is open so that he can visit the garden or the hundred and one different things that used to occupy me - they just don't occur to me. Once in a while though, I suddenly realise that Scruffy isn't there, and I cry. I can't help it. I know he is in a better place, and that I am just being selfish, but he shared his life with me and I am so glad to have had his friendship and unqualified love and loyalty. Farwell Scruffy. You have left a hole in our hearts that can never be filled.