It has been four months since my dog died and I still feel like something is missing when I open my front door. At first, I can’t quite work it out. Did I leave the heating on at work? Should I have gone to the shops? Am I in the wrong flat? No, what’s missing is the patter of paws, the inquisitive nose and the affectionate barrage of fur.
After your first dog, there’s a solid chance that you will never live doglessly again
Lola was 14 when she died, which is old for any dog but especially for a German shepherd. She used to lie in the centre of the flat I shared with my then-girlfriend with an unencumbered view of every room so that she could monitor proceedings. Now, the whole place feels emptier.
Losing a dog may not have the same spiritual complexity as losing a friend or family member. But what I miss is the simplicity of our relationship – the natural joie de vivre that dogs are blessed with. I
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in