That first year after Anne died was hard, very hard. It wasn’t just the special days; birthdays, Christmas, our fifth wedding anniversary, first date; you know the ones. It wasn’t just those. It seemed to be every day that something happened to make the realisation of Anne’s absence painfully clear. I’d be reading the paper at breakfast and come across something funny or something that got my goat. I’d start to read it aloud and look up to see the place where she sat each day, opposite. I expected to see her there. I kept expecting it day after day. Yes, that first year was hard.
Through all those hard days there was Roger. He saw me through, dragged me through sometimes. I could talk to Roger. I could look into those soft brown eyes and see his love and understanding. He never told me to pull myself together, to buck up old chap, life goes on and all that. He just looked back with those soft brown eyes and I could see that he missed her too. He wasn’t my dog he was our dog. His head would somehow find its way under my hand and I’d stroke his golden fur and we’d miss Anne together.
Taking Roger for walks was often the only thing that got me out of the house. Working from home meant that I would stay in for days if Roger had not insisted that I needed the fresh air and exercise. A long walk and a good talk was his recipe for my improvement and that was his medicine for the first year. Roger is a very social dog. He likes to greet friends and fellow dog walkers with a wave of his feathery tail and a sniff round the rear end of those other dogs who will permit. During that year he seemed subdued. He seldom dragged me to meet other dogs or other people unless I made the first move. He seemed to know that his company was enough, and I didn’t want to chat with every passer-by who said good morning.
Then on a fresh morning at the beginning of November, the air crisp and cold, roger seemed to decide that enough was enough and dragged me forcibly to meet a retriever and her owner. The elderly lady seemed a little surprised for her dog to be accosted by Roger but the dog seemed happy enough. Roger and his new found friend sniffed and frisked while the lady and I exchanged pleasantries until I could politely move on. It happened again at the next corner, this time with a Labrador and a young teenage girl. I had to have a few sharp words with him. The girl had, quite rightly given me a strange look and hurried off dragging her dog behind her.
A word to the wise is sufficient they say and Roger gave up meeting and greeting other dogs and I thought we were back to normal.
