Having the Last Bark

The old enemy is tottering a little now, that slightly stilted gait of the old dog: a stiffness in the legs that hints at pain, head and neck stretching to take up a pull of the lead the body can’t quite match.

For years we would meet her on our walks in the elm and oak avenues of the park over the road, and the reaction between the pair was unvaried. A bristling of hackles, a lurch and growl, a series of barks straining at the lead, then the odd parting glance across shoulders as we went on our way.

It seemed instinctive, the product of some ancient hatred between cocker spaniel and border collie. What old resentment might that have been? What dispute over God, food or territory?

Sometimes, with a pair of cranky dogs you sense that familiarity might smooth things over. And when you only meet in an on-lead park there’s the possibility that a meeting off-lead, with room to run off some of the hostility, might do the trick; anger melting into play. But there was something about these two that suggested otherwise. Their animosity was set.

Since our cocker died, I’ve wondered what the collie has made of the absence. Most likely she hasn’t noticed at all. But perhaps she is still on-guard, set for the next encounter just around that twist in the path; meeting a small pang of absence.

She might also be enjoying a quietly satisfying notion of victory, of having seen off her rival. And she has, for now.

Seeing her this morning, pulled along a little reluctantly, reminded me of our old girl’s last months. The sprightly athlete gone, replaced by a dog in steady decline. The desire for the outdoors and its scents and textures still strong, the habit of walking out still very much embraced, but the physical capacity to meet all of that sadly diminished. Such a quick slipping away to the sudden realisation that she is old and not long for this place.

It’s been the better part of a year now since we said our goodbyes, almost long enough to imagine the possibility of a new dog taking its happy, insistent place in our lives.

It seems almost necessary. Beyond the character of any beloved individual, there is some universal canine spirit. A universality that hints at something death defying, a kind of immortality.

Each old dog shuffles to its end, but the canine presence is eternal. No love is lost.