I have three little dogs. I love them. They are my little buddies and make my life so much better. They keep their little brown eyes on me and are my posse whenever we go out. They are my entourage to the front door, to the back door, the garden and the toilet. I often have to insist with the latter that I really can go by myself. It gets a little crowded at times, especially when the cat joins in.
When my grandson was crawling, my entourage expanded to include three dogs, one cat and a baby. My little poodle cross was besotted with him and would get up as high as she could to look down on him sleeping in his cot. My Pepe dog has a habit of lowering his head for a kiss. So did my grandson as a little baby. They’d sit opposite one another, bowing I turn.
My eldest dog, Wally, was adopted as a senior. He is very unwell and still insists on being chipper every day. Such a tiny hero. When the youngest cat, Billiemoo, joined us, he would roll over and let the kitten pounce on him and bite his ears and tail.
My animals are kind. My older cat, William, holds paws with me at night and sleeps along my back. He puts up with the youngest kit’s midnight attacks, with little complaint.
Recently my eldest cat died, Gemma. Her favourite thing to do was to sit on me. She was nearly 18 when she died. I miss her.
I am grateful for all my furry friends, their loyalty and idiosyncrasies, and their memory.