Old Friends

Last night my mum rang and I could tell from her voice that it was bad news. It was. My oldest friend – who has lived in Australia for the last 30 years – has just lost her mother. She went into hospital for a routine assessment and then Lin's Dad got a call to say she'd died.

This has upset me more than I could have believed. I hadn't seen Lin's Mum for about 15 years, and Lin and I don't keep in regular contact (her working hours preclude writing letters or emails) and the time difference – essentially when we're up they're in bed – make phone calls difficult. But her family and mine became intertwined from when we were both 4. As we're now both 51, that's quite a long time.

My mum and hers met at the school gates when Mum was shoving a weeping me into the playground, feeling like a monster. Lin's Mum came up to her and said, “This is my third child and I still feel terrible. Shall we go and have a cup of tea?” And from then on we were all good mates.

So I can only imagine how poor Lin is feeling right now. To lose your mum is bad enough. When you're the other side of the world it's so much worse. Trying to organise her several jobs, looking after all the animals while she's gone – whether to bring her son with her – all these things to take into account – as well as trying to get a flight. And the fact that here - “home” - isn't, of course, and hasn't been for so long.

From my point of view, this is also a sharp and painful nudge as to how I will feel when my own dear Mum goes, and none of us like to be reminded of that sort of thing.

I waited till I thought Lin would be back from work to ring her. For some reason I was extremely nervous – wanting to say the right thing. I dialled, fingers shaking, and listened while the phone rang and rang on the opposite side of the world. I could imagine her coming in, running to grab it – but the answerphone clicked in and that oh so familiar voice apologised for being out and told me to leave a message.

I got as far as, “I've just heard about your mum and I'm so so sorry,” and that was it. Tears welled up and clogged my throat so I could hardly speak. I left a strangled message, put down the phone and wept for her, for her poor dad, for the rest of the family – and for my inability to say the right thing.

But at least she knows that I'm here and that I'll be at the funeral – and that I really do care.

Especially for Dog Lovers

Yesterday was a very sad day. On Tuesday Mollie and I went out walking with Viv and her very elderly Jack Russell, Sammy. Sammy arrived in Viv’s home 17 years ago and has, as you can imagine, been part of the family ever since. If not ruled the roost. We had a lovely walk, sorted the world out, and, as usual, Sammy bossed Mollie around (“bloody kids, no respect for their elders”) though she did look a bit tired on the way home so Viv carried her for the last bit.

Viv rang yesterday morning in tears and I had a horrible premonition which was right. Sammy died yesterday morning. "It was my fault," she cried. "That was a long walk for an old dog. It was too much for her.”

This had crossed my mind, but I said firmly, “Absolutely not. Her last outing was a lovely walk with her Mum. What better way to go?”

Poor Viv hiccuped down the phone and said, “Thanks, I feel much better now.” And we both cried for another ten minutes.

For those of you who don’t have dogs, it must seem strange that we are so utterly distraught when anything happens to our dogs. But they are our children, they’re part of us. Mollie is my first dog but I can’t imagine life without her now. She crept into my heart as a little scrap of a thing and now is lodged there, forever.

I’ve been wondering how best to comfort Viv and was considering taking her to a rescue centre. When she’s had time to grieve, which could take some time. Then I remembered meeting a friend last week whose lurcher cross is having puppies in a month’s time. “You don’t know of anyone who wants a puppy, do you?” she said. “I want them to go to a really good home.”

So now I have two possibilities.

On a brighter note, I was walking Moll this morning when I met a mum who got Poppy, a rescue greyhound. This young mum has two young children (2 and 4) so she’s got her hands full, but took on Poppy who had suffered terrible traumas which I can’t bear to repeat. Poor Poppy just stood and shook at first. Now, 4 months on, she’s a different dog. She bounds along, plays with other dogs, tolerates being crawled over by the children and can even greet men (her torturer was male).

When I said how lovely it was to see Poppy looking so happy, the mum smiled and her face lit up. “We’ve never had a dog before, so it didn’t matter having one with special needs,” she said. “We didn’t have anything to compare her to.”

She made me feel humble and inspired at the same time. If only there were more people like her in this world.