She’d emailed me a few days before my appointment to warn me that he’d died. They’d had him over 14 years. A surrogate child, clearly, he went with them wherever they went. I wasn’t sure if she’d want to talk about him but she did. She told me that they both knew that he was nearing his end. He couldn’t settle and they called the vet. It was a stroke and they agreed to the vet injecting him. He died quickly with them lying by his side, and after eating his favourite foods. She didn’t want the vet to take him away to be cremated. ‘You never knew what you get back,’ she said. ‘They do road-kill, and everything. I want to make sure I get my dog and only my dog.’ So she found a man in Llanidloes. ‘He was a bit odd,’ she said, ‘but we got him back that same day.’ They’re going to scatter him in his favourite places but she will keep a bit back to put in a locket. (Or was that her mother’s ashes? Our conversation did digress.) I am so fond of her, and her chitter chatter is calming to my soul. I wish her peace in her grieving. Her partner has offered to make them lots of afternoon teas, she told me as I left.
