Saturday

After they’ve left, I sit down and take deep breaths. I’m not sure what to do next. Then my hand begins to sting and I look at it for the first time since it happened. I can see black specks of gravel stuck in the skin, mixing with the red where it’s been bleeding. I walk over to the sink; it’s so quiet, so unreal now, with no one else here. The water flushes out the little stones, then I cover the graze with a plaster.

She knew – she must have known then. When I started to encourage her onto the seat she pulled so hard and so unexpectedly, that I fell, and the gravel stung my knees and the palms of my hands where I put them on the driveway to steady myself. She didn’t like getting in my car, but she never did that before. I knew what would happen next, and I didn’t want them to see, so I turned away and almost ran back up the driveway, but I was crying by the time I got to the door.

It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. I go upstairs and lie down but I can’t sleep. I go back down and turn on the big computer – I can use that again now he’s gone –it was something I looked forward to. But the palm of my hand where the graze is, rests on the mouse and it’s painful, so I get up and wander into the sitting room. It looks huge with her crate gone. We never closed the door, it was just where she always slept. Now there’s an empty expanse of shiny wooden floor – that’s all.

With a sudden rush of energy, I clean until every last bit of dog hair is gone. I go back and forth pointlessly with the hoover on the sheepskin rug where she lay every evening, as if it really matters.

Now it’s all clean - white and cream and pale polished wood. Sterile. Not mine. I go around turning on lights, closing blinds, drawing curtains, but it doesn’t make things any better. Wherever I went for three years, she was right behind me. Even when she was quiet you knew she was there – the little sigh – so small for such a big dog – polite, not wanting to intrude.

When I next walk past I look in again, and it’s like an empty stage set – no noise, no life, nothing. I close the door so I don’t have to see.

I sit down and try to get on with things but every minute or so, as well as the rain and wind, outside somewhere I can hear barking in the distance and its hard to concentrate on anything else. After a while all I seem to be able to do is listen for the next bark.

I want to write about him leaving, saying goodbye, half excited and half terrified at this big new step in his life, and how he nearly forgot so many important things, and I wanted to write about how she went the next day, to live with such lovely people who can give her all the things I can’t anymore, and how even though I know it was the best thing to do, I still feel like a shit and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. And I wanted to try to describe what it’s like dismantling your life like this – not having a clue where you’ll end up or what you’ll do – how precarious it feels to stand on the edge of something completely new. But then I decide I’ll try in the morning instead because it might feel a little easier then.