The hardest part about living with a puppy isnt what most people think.
Its not having to take him out when its pouring down with rain, or when the wind is bitter and cold, or on those days when youve barely slept, or when your heart feels heavy.
It isnt turning down holidays or invitations because someone says, Come along, but you cant bring him.
Its not the tufts of fur on your bedsheets, on your favourite jumper, or even in your food.
Its not mopping the floors again and again, knowing that in half an hour, itll look just the same.
Its not the bills at the vets, nor the anxious worry that you might overlook something important.
It isnt losing a bit of freedom, for freedom now means us, not just you.
And its not that your heart is no longer yours alone
All of this is love.
All of this is life.
All of this was your own choice.
The hardest part creeps in slowly, like the aching in your bones when the weather turns damp. Like the chill that settles in after a day out on a grey London street, hardly noticeable at first, but cutting through, right to your core.
One day, you realise:
he simply cant, not like before.
He tries but he just cant.
He runs to greet you as he always did but now its somehow different.
His eyes are still yours, but deep inside them, you catch that tired flicker that seems to say:
Im here, but each day is a bit harder than the last.
And you remember how he was.
And you see him, right now wholly yours, trusting you with everything he has.
Hes always believed in you:
that youd be there beside him,
that youd help him,
that youd keep him safe.
And you did.
But now, you cant keep old age at bay.
The hardest thing to bear is knowing that, to you, he was comfort
but to him, you were EVERYTHING:
his whole life,
his entire world,
his hope.
And youre just not ready.
Youre not ready to let go.
Youre not ready to watch the light fade from the one who taught you to love with no boundaries.
And then comes the silence.
A deep, hollow silence.
The cold space on your pillow.
The food bowl that sits, untouched.
And your heart, in pieces.
You step outside again.
But this time, without him.
And you catch yourself, saying to the empty air:
Come along, little one
But if I could go back in time
Id choose him again.
Id take it all: the exhaustion, the sadness, the devotion.
Because that love? That love is real.
To have a dog is to welcome fire into your life.
A fire that keeps you warm, always,
even when hes gone.
Because a dog has but one purpose in this world:
to give you his heart.
