The raw pain of losing Rosie is still flooding over us and we remain in complete shock about her sudden departure from us. I am consumed with grief and misery.
When we lost Archie, we were prepared – his condition had been deteriorating over a long time and when we decided “enough was enough” for him, we gave ourselves a couple of days to say our goodbyes. With Rosie, I was whispering my love for her while hugging her to me on the back seat of our car as David screeched along the road to the vet on Sunday evening after she had her first fit and overnight, that night, while I stroked her or held her while she was having one of the fits that blighted her final hours I was able to tell her how much she was loved but it wasn’t enough. I *think* she knew she was the apple of my eye – I really hope so.
We want to find our way out of the misery and into the place where we can remember the good times. Only ten days ago, before she became ill, she’d stolen half a loaf of bread off the work surface in the kitchen and, when David discovered her eating it, she merely looked up at him and carried on as though it was her right. That reminds me of how she’d done a similar thing in the middle of a small dinner party when we lived at Sandhurst. I noticed from my seat in the conservatory that I could see her ears bobbing about in the kitchen, through the window. That was odd because she was small for a collie. I stood up and saw her, paws on the work surface, helping herself to a pavlova, meant for our dessert. She was clever too – she’d pushed the strawberries off with her tongue to get to the cream and meringue. That night too, when she was ticked off, she turned her head back to the task in hand and carried on eating!
Rosie adored Archie. She loved him so much that when we lost him she stopped eating, until we tempted her back into it by getting JD. She loved to play with Archie though he was less enthusiastic about her ambushing him than she was about executing the ambush – she was like Cato to Clouseau. When they were out on the moor or on the beach or indeed anywhere where they were off the lead and running around, Rosie would run alongside Archie hanging onto his collar. We had to replace his collar several times when Rosie’s teeth chewed through the leather.
JD's relationship with Rosie was quite different – he was much happier to sleep alongside her on the landing, whereas Arch liked his own space. JD played alongside Rosie in the tennis ball game, which Archie never would, though he deferred to Rosie and always let her have the first ball thrown. Whichever dog got the ball, that one was always allowed by the other to bring it back to us at the head of the procession, with the other one a few paces behind. This was their learned behaviour from one another, it wasn't taught by us. It was almost ceremonial.
It’s only two months since Rosie climbed Snowdon, along with the rest of us and she’d never have been able to do that if she’d been in pain from the cancer that finally took her away from us this week.
She was a confident little dog and loved people – in her young puppy days I used to take her to the supermarket and sit outside its door on a bench with her so she’d get used to having random people wandering up to her to give her a fuss. Colin once got to sit outside Woolies in Newquay with her while I went inside and declared her to be the best babe-magnet he’d ever had – apparently while I was gone he’d had a stream of beautiful young women wanting to fuss her and of course she took the fuss with glee (as did Colin btw).
Tennis balls were her thing – she’d always prefer a tennis ball to any other toy, from the moment of her coming into my home until the day before her death. She is buried with one beside her. I will never have the pleasure of having a soggy, muddy tennis ball landing in my lap again, with Rosie looking ever hopeful. You may not think of that as a pleasure but believe me, now that it’ll never happen again, it’s something I’ll miss terribly. It was impossible to make her tire of playing with a ball, we had many futile attempts to do so but she was always ready for another throw. It’s “game over” for good now.
I’ll never again have her clamber onto my lap for a kiss and a cuddle. When I come home from work/uni I won't ever again see her little earnest face at the gate, bobbing back and forth because her tail's wagging so furiously. I'll never stretch my legs out under my desk to find them land on a warm and furry little bundle.
She had such enthusiasm for life - if I got up, she'd leap to her feet as if she was saying "OK - where are we going? What are we doing?" She'd anticipate my routines so, for example, in the morning, when I walked out of the bedroom, she'd be on the landing and shoot down the stairs, knowing that my first "job" was to let her out for her tiddle. The next time I emerged from the bedroom was less certain - would I be going back downstairs to make breakfast or would I be going into my office to check my emails? She'd stay on the landing, tail up watching me until she'd worked out which was I planned to go then she'd shoot off and go there.
Anyone who has been on my diary for a while will know the story of her early life and how she came to be my baby - for those that don't - here is a link!
The worst bit (for me) is that I can't be sure that I will ever be loved as much again. You see, no matter how uncertain I am of whether or not she knew how much I loved her, I am utterly certain that she loved me absolutely and without reservation. She loved me more than life itself, and she loved life with a verve that few enjoy. I was her special person. Now she's gone, I am no-one's special person. I no longer have unconditional love. I no longer have someone who loves me more than life itself. Will I ever find myself in this lovely, lucky position ever again?
Weirdly the things she was scared of were bin bags and when we got a bin bag out of the cupboard it would send her into a frenzy – tomorrow night when we sort out the rubbish for Friday’s bin collection, it’ll be odd to do it without the chorus of Rosie’s yips.
Rosie liked to have her bottom tickled (not by a person, that would be too weird) while she pooed – she’d always choose to poo on a bush or plant rather than onto the ground – dunno why she did that but she did it for most of her life. You may think that’s too much information but it was one of the things that made Rosie Rosie.
I’m angry that the cancer got her and so desperately sad that she’s gone but right now she’s at Rainbow Bridge with Toby and Archie and that’s a huge comfort, even though we're still reeling from the loss of two of our precious babies in only seven months. She may have been a titch in collie terms but she’d got a huge personality – there sure was a whole lotta Rosie.
This photo was shot by David, not me.....his photo, my words of love.
