A letter to say goodbye

Bronte and me 2012

I want to share the following letter with you because it’s a brief documentation of friendship, love, memories, and the fragility of life that feeds into many of my posts and says a little about the loss of a friend.

Dear Bronte,

You came into my life in 2000 when I was only 10 years old. You were five or six months old, having first spent some time as a show pup, winning ribbons for how beautiful you were. You were the prettiest corgi I’d seen, with beautiful brown eyes, big ears that were soft like velvet, a gorgeous red coat, and the most beautiful disposition. When my Dad and I first went to visit you, we immediately fell in love with you and couldn’t pass up taking you home. We kept your name because it suited your sweet personality and gentle nature. How lucky we were to have you.

In your earlier years, you loved to dig, play and be a mischief. You were a little rascal and you always kept a bit of cheekiness in you. I loved sitting down to cuddle you. You’d nudge your head into my arm every time you wanted me to keep patting you. I loved playing ball with you, even if my hands dripped with your saliva. I loved watching you run full speed like a rabbit around the garden and house. All you wanted to do was play and eat. You used to bend down on your front legs and speak to me at every meal. You’d always spend time with me when I was in my study and I’d listen to you yelping in your sleep. You were too much fun.

I’m now 22 and I’ve been through some of the greatest changes and worst stages of my life (that no one should have seen). One thing that remained the same was you, my little dog. Your love, affection and gentle nature were always there. Like any dog, you didn’t have to say anything to be my friend, although I wish you could’ve. You comforted me when I was sad and ridiculous, just by being there for a pat and cuddle. You didn’t judge. You didn’t cry. You were a constant source of calm. When my anxieties went up, you could bring them down. You were a friend to everyone. It’s been a pleasure to know you and we’ve felt a lot of happiness with you by our sides.

It was only last year that I took the above photo. You could still jump up on my couch, you were still obsessed with food, you still ran around and followed me everywhere with excitement. You were full of life until the last few months when you slowed down and everything changed so quickly.

It’s been a week since you passed. You were 13 years old and old age had crept up. You still had velvety-soft ears but your brown eyes were glossing over. You were still cute with a beautiful disposition, but you were in pain and it must have been your time. It’s no less of a shock for all of us and we’re very sorry to see you go.

You gave us endless laughs with your personality and joy. You were a beautiful creature that we’ll always treasure. You kept us human. You reminded us to be calm, kind and playful, and to enjoy the simple things. With all this, you’ve reminded us of all the good you’ve brought and given to us, and indeed also of the delicacy of all our lives right now.

Some people might say, ‘oh she’s just a dog’, but I know many dog owners don’t believe that. Your dog is your companion and friend, a part of your family, someone you make memories with and adore. You’ve been the best pal to me and I hope you enjoyed your time here on earth with my family. I hope I looked after you enough. I hope you felt as good as you could in your last days, considering.

Thank you for being my dog and for being the best dog you could be. I am still shocked that you’re gone and I miss you. Goodbye Bronte. May you rest in peace.

Love Julie

40 thoughts on “A letter to say goodbye

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s