Five More Minutes

Dear friend,

I don’t want to write this.
I’d rather pour myself a drink and—well… and then what?
There’s nothing else for it.
Not one of us is immune.

You know when you love a dog the day will come—
and it came today
for Pablo and Pinar’s beautiful old boy.
The hulking fifteen-year-old Labrador, whom he named Stress.

Stress has, over the years, eaten passports and wallets and government papers,
but he never got ill until January of this year,
when he developed a fast-growing tumour under the silk skin
of his chocolate brown right ear.

I was at home at the kitchen table, cracking on with some research,
when Pablo messaged—and it wasn’t a surprise,
because both me and Chiara had been thinking about him a lot.

“Are you around?”

I called him back.

“Yes, I’m around,” I started.

“I’ve got some bad news,” he said—
and I knew it was the dog,
and I knew Pablo and Pinar needed help.

When Santy went,
a part of me knows I held onto her maybe a day or two too long.
I couldn’t let her go, and I learned from it.
I say it here because it’s hard to make a decision like that,
and I’m not judging myself for it.
What would be the use?
It was painful enough without piling recriminations on the fire.

The poor boy was telling us he’d had enough.
This is a dog who lived a full life,
and was active and happy right up to the moment his body gave up.
And so us three weeping humans went through what we had to go through.
The last frayed tatters of hope catching in our throats as it sunk in.

In the car.

Glad to be caught at red lights,
or stuck behind a bus.

I focused on my Mam and Santy,
who promised to come for him—
steering the car round potholes and soft over the speed bumps.
Anything, really.
Not one of us in a hurry.

The vet was young and kind and gentle,
and we went in together
and they ask you if you’d like more time.

“I can leave you and you can knock on the door when you’re ready,” says the vet.
“Really, take as long as you like.”

“Can we have five more minutes?” says Pinar.

Afterwards.

Outside, looking up, there was a cloud.
A great big one against the blue of the sky—
in the shape of a dog,
running with his tail held high and his tongue lolling joyfully out of the side of his muzzle.
You could even see his teeth.

We watched as he morphed and changed,
and our hearts broke—
and a little light got in to warm us up.

You can learn a lot from dogs.

Stress really did love you
in ways sometimes you’d wish he wouldn’t—
barking for attention, obsessively trying to get you to play with his toys.
He never calmed down and stayed a puppy, right up to the end.

Fifteen years.

For their daughter, who’s only known a world with him in it,
she’s lost a brother.

We’ve all lost a friend.

It makes me think about how it will be when my time comes.
It’ll be a joyous mob of dogs and cats,
and then eventually the human spirits will get a word in.

Pinar’s sweatshirt, the one she was wearing today, said:
“Make Someone Smile Today.”

Don’t be afraid to love.

If you’re one of the lucky ones and there’s a friend—furry or otherwise—
maybe now is a good time to let them know about it.

A bird on the marshes,
silhouetted against the sun,
singing its heart out.

The last rays of the day
striking the bark of a silver birch.

A dog flying across the sky.

Look for wonders.

They will find you.

I think I’ll have that beer now.

Till tomorrow
Love
Mikey