Let me tell you a love story

It was 15 years ago when we met you, our little golden fur bundle of joy. You came into our lives like a little tornado with floppy ears, a tiny woof and puppy high-fives galore.

And on Saturday, in the blink of an eye, you were gone.

We used to call you our saviour because you came to us at a time when things were not particularly good at home.

Our family was in a bad place, and you bounded in, sometimes running so sideways that you bumped into the walls, and captured our hearts like nothing else could.

You would sleep in our arms, drag your leash that was bigger than you for us to take you on walks and you would tear up every piece of paper in sight.

With each pounce, bark, late night whining at the door to go outside and smell the flowers, you crept into our hearts and sat there like a prince, smiling, panting and demanding attention.

People looking from the outside say you were spoilt. No, you weren’t. We gave you everything, and you gave us so much more than everything in return.

Visitors who didn’t like you got told by mum that if they didn’t like you, they could leave, because it was your home, not theirs.

You played in the garden, out on the street, in our bedrooms causing a mess and a total ruckus when you decided that your tail was your mortal enemy at 2am.

There were days we were too tired to play, but you didn’t hold it against us. You sat with us while we read, watched TV or chatted to each other.

You always tried to be part of the conversation. Unfortunately, none of us could speak Labrador.

When you were a few months old, you started sleeping with your head squashed up against mum’s pedestal. We called you ‘squishy face’.

You started sitting on your hind legs and pawing. We gave you the name ‘Dog is a DJ’ or ‘DJ Dog’.

You used to sulk so we called you ‘Karma Police’.

I used to pick on you for not having opposable thumbs.

We called you every nick name we could find, dragged you around so you could be with us at all times, tried to lift you up even when you were too big to be carried, yet you let us do all of those things without complaint.

You tore my shoelaces to shreds. You rummaged through our laundry baskets, bringing out our underwear to parade around in front of guests, you dug up the garden, got yourself soaking wet by diving into the pond (not the pool – you were scared of that – the pond), and you tore up school and university essays.

You ran to play in the rain and then ran away from the hairdryer. But you refused to pee when it was raining.

You came in with muddy paws, running all over my Matric dance dress, and then promptly kissed me. I couldn’t be angry with you.

You chewed up my shoes, my clothes, my wallet and handbags.

You ran up and down the house, sliding on the wooden floors and crashed into my piano on multiple occasions. You hid in pot plants, chewed up the flowers in mum’s marigold garden, and pounced on any insect that got in your way.

You chased my ex-boyfriend away when you realised I was upset with him. You warded off intruders many times.

You also called for help when I got very sick. You nudged my hands off the computer keyboard for me to stroke your velvety ears.

You sat on my bed and listened to my problems when I was sad. You celebrated with a hop and a bark when I was happy.

You even offered me your ball when you saw that I was struggling with my studies.

I have never known love like yours. It was true, unconditional and you loved with all your heart.

Where do I even begin to describe the joy you have given to our family?

But then you got sick. You started coughing. The vet said it was kennel cough and that it would go away.

It didn’t.

Then your oesophagus started closing up. You could barely bark, but you tried.

Your back legs started giving out, and muscle atrophy took hold of them.

Your eyes started clouding over and you slowly lost your hearing.

But even to the end, you wagged your tail and never showed us your pain. You never complained. You smiled and nudged our hands to scratch your ears.

When the vet said that the best option is to put you to sleep, logically, we were ready. We knew how you suffered. We knew it was time. 15 years is old for a Labrador.

But we didn’t know what a huge void you would leave in our lives.

As you dropped your head and peacefully went to sleep, it looked like you were just sleeping.

But you had left your frail body, leaving us forever. With a great big Labrador-shaped hole in our universe.

We can’t get you back. We are forever alone after you left us.

Why dogs live such short lives is beyond me. I thought you would live forever. I wish you could have.

Perhaps it’s because you were so good, you didn’t need to stick around. You knew everything we knew and felt everything we felt.

I may not believe in God or heaven, but you are definitely in heaven, my sweet boy.

Your love will stay with me and this family until the end of our days, and until we meet again, I will mourn your loss.

Until we meet again, I will forever long to feel your cold nose against my tummy, and have your fur and puppy smell cling to my clothes.

You were not just a pet. You were my first love.