I woke at 4am. I was filled with this pain that I couldn’t immediately place. I had to run to the bathroom and I was violently sick. And as I sat there, crying, sweat sticking the hair to my forehead, it all came rushing back to me.
My dog died. And to many, that’s a sad sentence but they don’t understand the pain behind those words. My dog died. My friend died. My constant companion since I was 10 years old died. The dog that I was allowed to name and called Muffin, because I was 10 and he was the same colour as a chocolate muffin. And because I was 10 I didn’t give any thought to the fact that 14 years later it’d seem to some that I was referencing a food item and crying about it. That’s why, at 4.45am, I sit here staring at a computer screen trying to put something into words that I don’t think is possible.
To many, a dog is just a dog. And Muffin was just a dog. A big, stupid, beautiful idiot of a dog who viewed beams of light as some kind of threat that must be eradicated. So much so that he once cut himself badly on a mirror from chasing its reflection. A dog that knew when you were trying to trick him into taking medicine and had an uncanny ability to suss out tablets in his food. A dog who could have been a sniffer dog for chocolate and had been the reason we now know exactly the amount of chocolate that is safe for a dog to consume. And somehow he managed to survive going over that limit countless times. A dog that got cancer and never complained about it. A dog that on his last day when he couldn’t walk or even stand managed to somehow gather the strength to jump on the couch and sit next to me because I was sad. Muffin was just a dog and damn it if I don’t think that’s more than enough.
I won’t pretend I know the mind of my dog. I don’t. I couldn’t possibly. All I know is the effect he had on me and those around me. Nobody who met Muffin thought he was anything other than wonderful. In fact I can think of only two instances where Muffin was wary of a person. Both those people were later jailed for pretty horrendous things.
Am I suggesting he was a psychic dog? Of course not. But he seemed to be a pretty good judge of character. And if I’m half the person that beautiful idiot thought I was, then I’m on the right track.