Missing B
Whilst sitting eating our Sunday lunch yesterday, a somewhat half hearted affair of lemon roast chicken, new potatoes, peas and carrots followed by yesterday’s leftover brownies with crème fraiche (well, I had a late night…and a teensy hangover), we got talking about B. Now some of my newer readers (welcome!) may not know much about her, but she was our gorgeous, glorious, spindly fawn baby. It’s now four months since she died, and although we’ve had a couple of foster greyhounds in the meantime, none quite compared to the inimitable B.
We were remembering how much she liked the little pre-prep girls at the boys’ school and used to whine and squeak with excitement, levering her head through a tiny space in the car window to get a better look to see if they were coming, then graciously accepting hugs and kisses whilst happily bashing hell out of the car interior with her tail. When we first got her she was so unused to soft carpet that she would just drop and sleep anywhere, it was so comfy. #2, suffering a little at leaving the UK and his friends and family behind, was going through a stage of waking terribly early. The amount of times I found them curled, fast asleep and entwined, on the living room floor probably got into double figures. That gangly, doe eyed girl did a great deal to help both our boys adjust, taking their minds off their worries and giving them something to care for.
As she grew to know us, she grew increasingly confident (and, dare I say bonkers), rushing up the hall in the morning to bounce up onto the bed and bark furiously at Hubby until he rolled over to give her a cuddle, and defying all our attempts at recall training by pretending to trot obediently by our sides before hurtling off as fast as she could as soon as we were distracted. In the end, of course, that was our downfall, and ultimately hers. Of course, if we could turn back time, we’d have her back tomorrow: sod recall training, we’d never let her off the lead and cherish every minute with her as we should have done. Honestly, if you’re contemplating a pet, take a trip to a retired greyhound sanctuary near you. You won’t be disappointed. There’s a doe-eyed pocket rocket just waiting to fill that empty spot on your sofa.
