11.30 am
I took a liberty with my letter last week, and wrote to you without recommending a book. It might happen again this week. Or maybe I'll recommend three.1 I don't know where this will go because, you see, the thing is, my dog is ill.
I'm writing this because she's having an operation, right now, and I don't want to think about what she looks like when she isn't vibrating with Excitement! Confusion! Frustration! Delight! My dog only has very big feelings and they can range from EVERYTHING IS TERRIFYING to YOU ARE HOME AND I CAN’T CONTAIN MY RELIEF. I wish I could be in the room with her right now.
Everyone thinks their dog has human emotions, but I like to think about Dog Emotions, which are huge and wild and fleeting. I don't know about Dog Memories, or Dog Associations, I just know my dog gets mad at a lot of things that really aren’t a threat.
Sometimes I'm reluctant to talk about her Spectacular Quirks in case Some Dog Guru responds and says this dog is deeply unhappy and it's all your fault, but I know, when she hauls her body up from one comfortable slump to another that is closer to me, that I am her person and she is my dog.
Who else would cross an entire beach at my beckon?
Who else cares so strongly that I should be protected from mysterious beeps and swooshing noises?
Who else is concerned for me when I pick up the phone, and talk to someone she can't see. She shouts her desperate warning. Danger! When I close the dishwasher. When I use the hoover. When I open a window that's high up. Danger! Danger! When I rattle utensils that make a metallic clang. That jangly balloon whisk! Especially that bloody balloon whisk! Danger! Danger! Danger!
I sometimes joke that if I ever did find myself in a dangerous situation; fallen down a well or trapped under a wardrobe, she'd just stand there and bark at me, disappointed and judgy. This is additionally funny because my dog is a Rough Collie, aka a ‘Lassie’. ‘Lassie’ rescued people all the time, but maybe my dog is more “Look, I told you there was danger everywhere and you didn't pay attention and now you’re in a well!”
But then I remember another one of the things she barks at is crying, specifically mine. If we're watching TV, or I'm deep in a book and she's deep in a snuggle at my side, and I'm moved to even the most gentle sniffle,2 she goes WHAT! WHAT! WHAT IS HAPPENING! SOUND THE ALARM! MY PERSON IS DISTRESSED! HELP! HELP! and then I feel pretty sure that if I was in a well, she’d wake the whole town.
It's quite easy to complain about my dog, she’s stubborn and ridiculous, inconsistent and unfathomable. She’s so beautiful that all of this is instantly forgivable. She’s glamorous but goofy. She’s elegant but scruffy. A lady. A baby. I hope she’s ok right now. I wish I could be in the room with her.
Having a dog, like opening a bookshop, being a mother, wasn’t something I dreamed about when I was younger. Dogs were what other people had, Dog People. I didn’t think you were allowed to just become a dog person. Announce yourself capable of suddenly having a dog? Wasn’t there a test or some sort of validation process? I thought there was, and the only requirement to pass was that you’d had a dog before.
When I opened a bookshop, when I bought a house, when I found myself with a flexible working week, a dog was suddenly an option, and just as suddenly, I realised I wanted one.
When she came home with us, we were so enchanted by her. She was like a fantastic Pokémon, plonked right into our lives. I found it so funny that we shared our home with an animal. Sometimes I am still charmed by the sight of her pottering around our house, her house. A real animal, roaming about. A lovely beast that I can cuddle. Sometimes I think if wishes on birthday candles came true, I’d ask for her to be able to talk, over anything else. I wish she could tell me more. I wish I could be in the room with her right now.
Most days, I take my dog to the beach. We walk on the dunes or along the seafront. She loves to romp up and down the sand dunes, meeting other dogs and sniffing all the sniffs. Of course, it’s best on the bright blue-sky days, when the sea shuffles sequins, when it winks right back at you saying Can You Believe This? but walking my dog means I see the beach on its griege days, too. And its drizzle days. Some torrential. Even some of those painful sliced ice days. Hurling winds that scream down your ears. The kind of weather you wouldn’t walk yourself in. But we do, because, Dog. We never regret the walks. They’re almost always an improvement on the day; the air, the elements. I don’t know if I ever really thank her? I’m waiting for the call. I hope she’s ok. I’m thinking about our walks in the future. I don’t mind if they’re slower for a while, shorter.
Sometimes, if I go somewhere without her, she howls the house down on my return. When was the last time my husband was that happy to see me? Sometimes her welcomes are so extreme I have to tell her Enough! They are too enthusiastic, for too long, it’s too much, it’s too loud. I forget how to be sympathetic to her Dog Emotions. I wish I could be in the room with her right now. I love it best when I come down to her in the morning and catch her still on the cusp of her waking up. Her eyes are still sleepy and her body is too slouchy to stand up just yet, but her tail gives a little wave hello, sometimes it thumps the floor with that wonderful weight of her barely-conscious love, hello, hello, hello.
I know she will be delicate when she comes home tonight, even if everything goes the way it should, she’ll be sore and tired and confused. I’ll have to find a soft way to welcome her back, to tell her I am so happy she’s safe. I want her to know that when I left her this morning I came home and howled the house down. How I wanted to be in the room with her. I just hope that she’s ok.
1.30 pm
The phone rings.
And she’s ok.
4pm
I’m going to pick her up.
5pm
I’ll try and get back to books next week. With walks off the cards for the next ten days while she recovers, maybe I’ll get a bit more reading done! Until next week… thanks for reading.
I’m currently reading The Forgotten Girls by Monica Potts, Eyes Guts Throat Bones by Moira Fowley and The Wakes by Dianne Yarwood
You’ll remember I’m not Claire Danes
A bad day for a good dog
Oh Katie, I'm so pleased she's home and looking like a queen in her rough collie ruff collar - I was with you the whole way through and I don't know how you saw the keyboard through tears, I really don't. They're such a part of our lives aren't they, and you're right - they don't have human emotions - they have their own particular type of emotion and it goes beyond ours. If they could talk they could tech us so much that we need to learn. Bless you both. And take care of one another x
😭😭😭😭 this needed a tissue warning.
Also Dog Emotions sounds a terrific title for a book, picture or novel.