I Wanna Be Your Dog.
Cool for Cats and other pet sounds.
Welcome to a comparatively short and lighter piece compared to my previous articles here on Substack. It’s still an important and emotive tale, relating to my coping mechanisms and methods of managing the sometimes isolating and anti-social aspects of my condition.
But this is a tale of joy… Well, the first bit is sad but stick with it, as I promise it'll end in a ‘happily ever after’.
About three years ago I was in the doldrums. My then constant companion and best friend Stouffer, a magnificent long-haired tortoiseshell cat, had just passed away at the very respectable age of 15 years old. She left a hole in our household, and many in the furniture. Only when she left us did I realise just how important her company wa me.
The subsequent wave of heartbreak and grief was so tidal that it made me wonder if I could ever swim against it again… the utter misery of loss was justified; I loved her and she was with me pretty much ALL the time. That is the one great pitfall of pet ownership. But as much as this rankled with me, and I dreaded the mourning, I still missed that sense of bonding with an animal and the unconditional love that they bring.
Then we were contacted by some very lovely friends who made us an offer that was incredibly hard to refuse. They were working with a charity whose goal was to find homes for Spanish rescue dogs, transporting them across the Continent, through the Channel Tunnel, and all around the country, to new and better lives. Would we be willing to adopt one of them?
I was a little reluctant.
When they sent over a picture of our potential new family member that little iota of doubt dissolved.
We met her for the first time in a car park near Sutton Scotney motorway services. Daisy was placed in my arms and we travelled home. She was perfect - full of character, a little darling, with one black ear and one white.
And she was trusting, despite her first three years of life on the Andalusian streets being unknown to us. We have no idea how she was treated. She sensed safety and she knew she was now in a place where she would be loved and cared for.
And now it’s three years on and Daisy and I are a team. She sleeps by my side every night and we spend our days together and she is the Stan to my Ollie, the Eric to my Ernie. We're a double act without the performances.
She can read my emotions like a book and, if she senses that I am upset, unsettled or anxious, she will be there beside me. When we’re out walking I constantly chat to her and rely on her non-judgemental acceptance of my thoughts. I’m guessing that other folk might find the one-sided conversations a little odd, but I’m not concerned what they think.
Daisy is my best friend and my little girl
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