Things can only get better...!

It's been a tough couple of weeks. Some of this has been superficial nonsense and some of it has been difficult and emotionally draining. It all started when I went to get my hair trimmed. I said "pixie cut", she heard "convict". I went home, sniffled a bit on the hubby and knitted an emergency hat. "Oh well, " I said to the hubby, "I can't get any uglier." Then I got conjunctivitis (shared by the munchkins, naturally.) We went through a period of coughs, sore throats and general flu-like symptoms. Then Fergus got ill.

Not with weird alien eyes, but a rehash of his earlier cystitis - or so we thought!! A few visits to our vet and about a gazillion English pounds later and Fergus is relieved of "the cork-like blockage in his penis" (the vet's words!) I was distraught at the time just thinking about Fergus having to stay overnight at the vets, because he is my furbaby, but also because of Hugo.

Oh, Hugo.

Where do I start? He started with a few worrying symptoms last year - confusion, shaky legs, general weird behaviour. Eventually, by January, all signs pointed to a brain tumour and we knew we would have to make "the decision" at some point. That point arrived last week, when Hugo's legs became inflamed and he was struggling. We took him in on Monday and he fell asleep for the last time at 5.20 p.m. I can honestly say it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but also one of the kindest. I read about this stuff all the time, I know a lot of pet-lovers online, but actually having to do it is a whole other story.

This week has been weird, and full of firsts. That first night was very quiet - no noisy slurping of water from the kitchen. Neither of us wanted to go downstairs that first morning, because we knew we wouldn't hear Hugo getting up and shaking his collar before coming to greet us at the bottom of the stairs. I think in a strange way (as neither of us are fantasists) we were both somehow hoping we'd made it all up and that he would still be here, and we knew that by going downstairs the spell would be broken. The first pet feeding, with only Fergus to sort out, and no list of pills to add to the food. The first grocery shop where I didn't need to put the bags out of reach, because there was no dog to poke his nose in, hopeful of a bit of available something-or-other.

All this sounds very odd to say about a dog, I know, but Hugo arrived in our lives before we really became a family, and I feel strongly that we were meant to have him. He brought us all together, and was there through both my pregnancies, protective and affectionate towards the girls as babies, and patient with them as toddlers! He was a constant in a period of great change in our lives, and it's going to take time to get used to life without him being here, missing the good points and feeling guilty for being impatient over the bad points.

Anyway, tomorrow I am taking Fergus in for yet another check-up and collecting Hugo's ashes. We are going to scatter them next weekend. I think that will be the final confirmation that he's gone, and we will be able to remember him with joy instead of mourning his absence.