14th November 2011
There are no words to describe him. Acquired as an appendage, a partner, a friend for Jemima, so one might describe him as insignificant – an extra on the main stage. But that would belittle his role and his impact on my life. Continue reading
It’s hard to fathom a year since the moment Jemima died. Her beautiful, but now slightly cloudy, eyes closed and suffering no more. How can a moment in time cast such a shadow over everything hence? To the extent that a sight, sound or smell can stop me in my tracks as it brings back floods of memories, once happy but now painful, and knowing I will never experience the like of which again?
The day the year came round started in an unusual fashion with an early hours return from an evening out that had ended at a lap dancing club. Daylight came far too early, not that I should have woken, but I was roused by the feeling of another panic attack. Alcohol can help bring on the symptoms so I had been told so I put the event down to that but in the midst of the tight chest and feeling of fear it’s not always a rational thought that wins the argument. With every attack the thought always surfaces from the deep of mind that perhaps this time it’s something more serious. After starting up from the sofa where I had crashed I tried to empty my mind, to relax, and started the deep slow breathing which I’d read that is the one thing you can do that is in your control. Panic attacks are physiological caused by the pyschological and the thoughts that an attack brings illogical so by concentrating on breathing you maintain some control over what is happening. Slowly the attack receded and I fell asleep once more.
I woke around 7am as the sound of children resonated through the house. Physically I mostly felt tired and I had a slight headache but mentally I was aware. Aware of what this day was and what it meant. I had no preconception of how I would react on the day – only a sense of foreboding like the sight of a dank grey cloud over the horizon edging closer. The day progressed as any Saturday did but it felt different until eventually I found myself seated at my desk looking at photos of Jemima in a manner as if staring into space. As a wave of realisation of the cruelty of the passage of time grew I shrunk into my seat head in hands, my eyes leaking as they inevitably did. I became aware of comings and goings behind me but wasn’t able to discern who or what it might be until I heard the kitchen door bolt shut and a key was turned from the other side. I had been locked in and left alone to my ruminations. I cannot tell how long I sat there until the door opened again and lunchtime manoeuvres began and all became well again while I was distracted.
As the hours toiled by I slipped again into silence and then, as two in the afternoon became three, into distraction. The time drew closer and I found myself clock watching, sitting and looking into space, oblivious to noise and conversation, and sometimes looking at the laminated black and white picture of Jemima on the notice board. Three became four and my mood darkened. I replayed the scenes from a year before in my head trying to figure out the sequence of events and the mistakes I had made. Four fifteen. Four twenty. Getting in the car to go to the vet. Jenni saying goodbye. Four twenty five. The decision. Four thirty five. The last breath…
The moment passed. Jemima had now been gone for more than a year. The clock soon hit five and preparation for dinner time began. Distracted again I felt a sense of guilty relief. Relief that the moment had passed but guilty that I had offered no ceremony or dignified marking of the event save sitting and thinking of the loss of my base – I hope Jemima could forgive me that.
25th December 2010
I feel a connection, quite strongly, between all of the Christmas days of my life but it is a connection that I fear and endure. It is a familiarity, an echo even, or perhaps like an old friend returning sometimes unwanted. You know they are coming and there’s nothing you can do about it. So it continued with the first Christmas without Jemima. I suppose I could say that I wanted to feel the faint echo of her presence but when the day arrived all I felt was a dark hole. Of course I could look at old videos especially that of last Christmas when Jemima came along on our Christmas holiday away. Oddly enough the first video I played was that of Jemima carrying my croc and chewing upon it. As I watched I fingered the teeth marks that my croc still bore – evidence aplenty of her existence that now seemed so long gone. I turned the video off and sat with my head in my hands and did that which comes naturally – I cried.
I once calculated how many words and commands Jemima understood. I had read an article that the most intelligent dogs knew around 30 commands so I was naturally inquisitive as to how many Jemima knew. The count was 21. So not the most intelligent of dogs but perhaps it was because I had stopped teaching her by the age of 4 rather than anything she had done. She certainly had the capacity for more commands – it was always just a matter of time, patience, treats and a small measure of Pavlovs theory. Her crowning achievement, at least from my perspective was the ability to play dead if I said “Bang!”.
Training sessions in her earlier life, for the most part, were numerous and sometimes for extended periods. She always concentrated but perhaps for no greater reason than the handful of biscuits I had in my hand. A session would always start with “sit” and “paw” and move on to “down”, “sleep” and “bang”. “Other paw” would mean switching paws as required. Then there was “stay” and “fetch”. A ball when introduced would be thrown, brought back and then “drop” or “let go”would result in the required action. “Find it” could be applied to most items of interest after one had hidden said object – a skill that was to prove most useful when “fetch slipper” was introduced. Even better was after the first slipper was brought back a “fetch other slipper” would result in Jemima trotting off and finding and returning the second slipper even if it were in a completely different place.
Of course all training was rewarded, she would do anything for a treat, but I sometimes would place a treat on the floor only to make her “wait” until I said “go on” at which she would then snaffle it. If ever I couldn’t be bothered to move but wanted to entertain Jemima all I would need to say was “fetch ball” and she would duly oblige. If not a ball it could be “fetch stick” and an appropriate stick would be returned. To sometimes wind her up I would hiss “where’s cat!” and she would raise her heckles, prance and snort around the garden checking the trees and tops of the fences for felines. There was of course “no” which would stop her in her tracks when she was about to do something I would rather she didn’t. That by my reckoning comes to nineteen although one might dispute a couple of them as being the same. What were the other two? “Beg!”, “Come!” And does her own name and the recognition of it count? That’s twenty two! I’m sure that there were other words. “Bone!”. “Fetch bone” would result in the finding of a bone and it being dropped on your feet. I’m sure she knew what “ouch” was as a result.
Bones were dangerous. As it was her habit to fight the bone before she set about chewing it, it was often the case that said bone would find itself flying through the air at speed, as she would spin on the spot and release the bone at a random juncture. Such an activity was fun to watch so I would encourage it by stamping my feet in quick succession saying “fight it mima!”
