I Am Broken

The day started off like any other "normal" Wednesday morning: my first alarm sounded at 4.45 am, Andy rang me at 5 am. I needed to be up and out early to my breakfast networking weekly meeting.

"If only it could have been any other normal Wednesday."

I dressed and went downstairs, let my dogs out, put my boots on, donned my coat. Opened the door to bring the dogs back in. Only Susie came - wagging her tail, seeking the biscuit she knew I was about to give her as she went "back to bed". Patch didn't come in. I called him. Nothing. I called again and then I heard the most awful noise; a noise I will never forget as long as I live.

It was the sound of something being dragged across the concrete outside the door. I looked out. Patch looked back at me from the darkness, his big wide eyes full of fear as he silently pleaded with me to help him. His back legs splayed on the floor as he dragged them behind him, desperately trying to get to our back door.

The horror of the scene unfolding before me was unbearable. I don't remember going outside but I do remember scooping him up and carrying his soft, helpless body inside to his bed. My beautiful, loyal, best friend was in trouble.

"When did he become so light? Why had I not noticed his weight loss?"

I now know he wasn't any lighter but in that moment when I needed to carry him, he was as light as a feather.

I rang Andy. He was in Manchester and would be 2 1/2 hours before he got home. I rang Denise from our Networking group, explaining I wouldn't be there and the emailing what she needed from me to enable someone to take on my role in the meeting. Bless Denise she added words of comfort but I couldn't tell you what she said.

Then - practicalities all taken care of - I fell apart. I went and sat on the floor next to Patch's bed, cradling his head, stroking him and I rang my friend, Julie. I have no idea what I said to her but 20 minutes later she was with me. Then something amazing happened.

I went to make Julie a cup of tea and Patch got to his feet and followed me into the kitchen! He went from there into the lounge and, exhausted, flopped onto the floor. I couldn't believe my eyes. But my joy was to be shortlived.

Patch was sick, very sick. My amazing friend had found the strength to stand up because he didn't want to be alone in what he knew was his last hours. His breathing was laboured, his gums pale. My precious dog was dying and there was nothing I could do about it other than to be there for him and to make him as comfortable as possible during his final hours.

I was knocked for a six. I was just not prepared or ready for this. It was the last thing I had expected when I got out of bed that morning; a morning that had started so normally, just like every other Wednesday morning before it. Only this wasn't any other Wednesday morning. The nightmare that was rapidly unfolding was horribly real and it was a roller coaster ride, spiralling downwards and I couldn't get off. It was going too fast and I, we were going to crash.

Julie left and shortly after Andy arrived home. Then the vets arrived. They listened to my account of what had happened and then gently examined him. Then they told me the news I didn't want to hear. His heart was broken and we needed to say goodbye to him and let him go. My heart was broken. Andy's heart was broken. In that awful moment, we were all broken. A broken family.

"No, no, no....this can't be happening. I did not expect this today. I am not ready, we are not ready. No - not my beautiful Patch. No, please just no. One more minute, hour, day....more time please just not now. Please not now."

But the words I was screaming did not come out.

Andy cradled my beautiful boy and I stroked him as he peacefully took his last breath.

We clung to each other and cried. Huge sobs.

Life was never going to be the same again.

I am broken.