Losing a beloved pet is a very personal experience that effects everyone in different ways. I have made the decision to take on rescue animals and certainly in Marmaduke's case chose to take on an older animal. I know that I don't have many many years with him, but I take great pleasure in seeing just how happy he is at Hey Diddle. He may have had a difficult first 10 years or so but his last ones will be full of love and sitting on my knee or changing channels on the Sky box. Jack is of course in the twilight of his life and I just well up at the thought of losing him, but I know that time will come and that if at all possible I will be with him at the end. I have even thought out how his last minutes will be if I have to do the dirty deed. It most certainly won't be at the vets. it will be at home with me and although he hates needles I will try to make it a moment of love and comfort for him.
I never expected to be a mad animal lady. I had a dog called Sammy many years ago who was lovely and I loved and took care of him. He developed Epilepsy and that made it quite difficult, especially with my marriage t a violent bully, whose main way of dealing with an epileptic dog was to start kicking him. He only did it once and after that wasn't allowed close to him if he was ill, except of course typically on his last day I went to work (I worked nights every other week). I knew something was wrong but I had to go and I couldn't take him with me. H1 was on holiday with his latest girlfriend (we were still sharing a house) and came back after I left. I actually think that for once he did the right thing - he called the vet out, but in the days before mobile phones, I came back to a house without Sammy. I did cry but in some ways it was a relief, I was planning to leave and join the RAF and I wasn't sure about how I could look after him after that, so perhaps providence stepped in?
Last week I lost Arabella. I noticed that she wasn't very well - I diagnosed Egg Yolk Peritonitis, which was confirmed by the vet. Sadly for Arabella it was a one way trip; in my experience it tends to be the case. Now its sad to lose a chicken. Little Dusty the very randy cockerel met a very sad end; a visiting dog attacked him. I'd kept them apart right for a week (so called friend had dumped him on me) until it came time for collection and then he let the bloody thing out. I was extremely upset because it was totally unnecessary, but Dusty was on borrowed time - he'd been sold to me as a hen and frankly he wasn't the friendliest of cockerels. Mind you it was rather amusing watching him skip down the garden and seeing one of the girls see him coming only try to avoid him. They used to start backing up into the flower beds because he used to jump their bones!
My greatest moment of loss was was when I lost my beloved Molly cat. She had arrived with H3, my third husband, who left me when things got tough. When he went I decided that she hadn't done anything wrong and frankly why would she want to be stuck with a such a loser? She and I had another 5 years together, before she suddenly got very ill. She as a demanding, talkative girl who would worry if her bowl looked like it might get ;empty some time next week. She once started to complain at 2 am; I foolishly thought that she might settle down and be quiet, but after 45 minutes of non stop complaining I finally gave up and went down stairs only to discover that her bowl was nearly full! Having topped it up she was very happy and I didn't hear another peep from her all night. The funny thing was that she didn't like anything except dry food! She also went through phases of wanting to sleep on me at night. I would sometimes find her perched precariously on me when I was sleeping on my side, or other times when I had a mutt either side of me sleeping on my chest. I'd wake up a few hours later still pinned down to the bed! It used to be a tad hot in summer!
Anyway back to the matter in hand. Molly ended up going to the vets at 2 am and it appeared that something was wrong with her heart. I took the week off and moved a bed into the kitchen for her, she'd already decided that she didn't want to go outside so I had already installed a litter tray for her. I had strict instructions to keep her quiet, but frankly Molly was never one to go running around. Initially she would take her pills, but then as I think that she felt better would struggle. We came to a compromise of once a day. Three weeks after her initial scare I wanted to take her in for a check up. She'd stopped eating, which I didn't think was an issue until I spoke to the receptionist who said that it was a really bad sign. So off we went and met a vet who looked like he was 15 and he noticed that she probably had kidney issues. He blood tests showed kidney failure. To cut a long story shorter I ended up up taking her to a specialist vets, where despite everything she ended up having a heart attack. One minute she was getting better then she wasn't. Thankfully I was at home so I told the specialist to wait until I got there. I drove like a maniac for the 27 miles to the centre and got to her within 40 minutes. She was in a baby's incubator with 2 nurses looking after her and an oxygen pipe next to her face. Molly recognised me and started chatting. I was in tears and spent time with her - there in a busy practice telling her that I loved her and that I was sorry. We did the deed there and she complained when the sedative went into her then relaxed and looked peaceful. Everyone was very kind, they asked if I wanted to them to cremate her, but I wanted to look after that myself. They emptied her bladder then wrapped her in a blanket and let me take her. I drove back home with her on set next to me and carried on talking to her and crying. The next day I took her to the pet crematorium and said good bye again. Her ashes are now in my front garden, where she used to like to spend her days, not far from my grandmother's ashes.
The thing that I hadn't expected was the depth of grief that I felt for her. I felt guilt even though I knew that I had only saved her a few hours at the most but mostly I felt a great sense of loss. H3 of course behaved appallingly badly and asked for her back after I told him of her passing. How do you give a dead cat back? It was very surreal and reminded me of that book - 101 uses of a dead cat. It took me a long time to get over her loss. Perhaps I was grieving over other things as well but I think of Molly and smile, she was a real Diva! In her photograph you can see a brief truce with Paddy, when they both wanted to be with me on the sofa. The other photo is Arabella and Dusty (after Springfield).
Although I didn't want to lose Molly, her passing made way for Dot and Marmaduke - both of whom joined me 4 months after her passing. They both needed me so much and their lives, although short are in many ways a celebration of Molly, who barged into my life and opened my heart to cats again. However you lose an animal, it has made its mark on your life, hopefully in a positive way and in my case have become part of the fabric of my life and of Hey Diddle Cottage. I feel them and smile when I remember them.
Dedicated to Molly
I never expected to be a mad animal lady. I had a dog called Sammy many years ago who was lovely and I loved and took care of him. He developed Epilepsy and that made it quite difficult, especially with my marriage t a violent bully, whose main way of dealing with an epileptic dog was to start kicking him. He only did it once and after that wasn't allowed close to him if he was ill, except of course typically on his last day I went to work (I worked nights every other week). I knew something was wrong but I had to go and I couldn't take him with me. H1 was on holiday with his latest girlfriend (we were still sharing a house) and came back after I left. I actually think that for once he did the right thing - he called the vet out, but in the days before mobile phones, I came back to a house without Sammy. I did cry but in some ways it was a relief, I was planning to leave and join the RAF and I wasn't sure about how I could look after him after that, so perhaps providence stepped in?
Last week I lost Arabella. I noticed that she wasn't very well - I diagnosed Egg Yolk Peritonitis, which was confirmed by the vet. Sadly for Arabella it was a one way trip; in my experience it tends to be the case. Now its sad to lose a chicken. Little Dusty the very randy cockerel met a very sad end; a visiting dog attacked him. I'd kept them apart right for a week (so called friend had dumped him on me) until it came time for collection and then he let the bloody thing out. I was extremely upset because it was totally unnecessary, but Dusty was on borrowed time - he'd been sold to me as a hen and frankly he wasn't the friendliest of cockerels. Mind you it was rather amusing watching him skip down the garden and seeing one of the girls see him coming only try to avoid him. They used to start backing up into the flower beds because he used to jump their bones!
My greatest moment of loss was was when I lost my beloved Molly cat. She had arrived with H3, my third husband, who left me when things got tough. When he went I decided that she hadn't done anything wrong and frankly why would she want to be stuck with a such a loser? She and I had another 5 years together, before she suddenly got very ill. She as a demanding, talkative girl who would worry if her bowl looked like it might get ;empty some time next week. She once started to complain at 2 am; I foolishly thought that she might settle down and be quiet, but after 45 minutes of non stop complaining I finally gave up and went down stairs only to discover that her bowl was nearly full! Having topped it up she was very happy and I didn't hear another peep from her all night. The funny thing was that she didn't like anything except dry food! She also went through phases of wanting to sleep on me at night. I would sometimes find her perched precariously on me when I was sleeping on my side, or other times when I had a mutt either side of me sleeping on my chest. I'd wake up a few hours later still pinned down to the bed! It used to be a tad hot in summer!
Anyway back to the matter in hand. Molly ended up going to the vets at 2 am and it appeared that something was wrong with her heart. I took the week off and moved a bed into the kitchen for her, she'd already decided that she didn't want to go outside so I had already installed a litter tray for her. I had strict instructions to keep her quiet, but frankly Molly was never one to go running around. Initially she would take her pills, but then as I think that she felt better would struggle. We came to a compromise of once a day. Three weeks after her initial scare I wanted to take her in for a check up. She'd stopped eating, which I didn't think was an issue until I spoke to the receptionist who said that it was a really bad sign. So off we went and met a vet who looked like he was 15 and he noticed that she probably had kidney issues. He blood tests showed kidney failure. To cut a long story shorter I ended up up taking her to a specialist vets, where despite everything she ended up having a heart attack. One minute she was getting better then she wasn't. Thankfully I was at home so I told the specialist to wait until I got there. I drove like a maniac for the 27 miles to the centre and got to her within 40 minutes. She was in a baby's incubator with 2 nurses looking after her and an oxygen pipe next to her face. Molly recognised me and started chatting. I was in tears and spent time with her - there in a busy practice telling her that I loved her and that I was sorry. We did the deed there and she complained when the sedative went into her then relaxed and looked peaceful. Everyone was very kind, they asked if I wanted to them to cremate her, but I wanted to look after that myself. They emptied her bladder then wrapped her in a blanket and let me take her. I drove back home with her on set next to me and carried on talking to her and crying. The next day I took her to the pet crematorium and said good bye again. Her ashes are now in my front garden, where she used to like to spend her days, not far from my grandmother's ashes.
The thing that I hadn't expected was the depth of grief that I felt for her. I felt guilt even though I knew that I had only saved her a few hours at the most but mostly I felt a great sense of loss. H3 of course behaved appallingly badly and asked for her back after I told him of her passing. How do you give a dead cat back? It was very surreal and reminded me of that book - 101 uses of a dead cat. It took me a long time to get over her loss. Perhaps I was grieving over other things as well but I think of Molly and smile, she was a real Diva! In her photograph you can see a brief truce with Paddy, when they both wanted to be with me on the sofa. The other photo is Arabella and Dusty (after Springfield).
Although I didn't want to lose Molly, her passing made way for Dot and Marmaduke - both of whom joined me 4 months after her passing. They both needed me so much and their lives, although short are in many ways a celebration of Molly, who barged into my life and opened my heart to cats again. However you lose an animal, it has made its mark on your life, hopefully in a positive way and in my case have become part of the fabric of my life and of Hey Diddle Cottage. I feel them and smile when I remember them.
Dedicated to Molly
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