Monty G

My dearest Monty G, 

You left us today. If there is a dog heaven, you must be there already. If you did not get in, then I do not know who will. A sweeter dog than you there never was.     

Will I walk you tomorrow? Who will notice a man walking an absent dog? I will have your brown lead dangling from my pocket. I will carry your favourite biscuits and I will whistle for you. I will do this every morning, rain or snow or Christmas. For you insist on your walks and now I cannot just stop. I will not remember you are no more. I will shout your name in the woods and other dog owners will roll their eyes and smile ‘Labradors’, they would say. “Yes Labradors!”, I would concur and roll my eyes in reply and ever so surreptitiously, wipe a tear. 

I will not paint the wall or polish the floor at home to erase the dark patches where you snuggled. I will not throw away your bed or remove it from the landing – the bed that you chewed to make your own. I see you contorting your huge body into the little space under my desk, the space you claim as your own and insist on occupying. “Go write somewhere else”, you say.

I will keep you alive. To me, Monty G, you are not dead. You have just gone missing and you will answer my whistling. It is time to pick up mum from the bus stop. Come on. Let’s go. You will raise your moist nose and wag your tail when you spot her at a distance. You will then ignore her when she is close. Such a wind-up artist you are! 

Your brother is weeping, mum is weeping too, but I have no tears because to me you are only missing. Gone to find that tasty piece of sandwich someone has jettisoned in the bush. You know you have to return to me when you sense I am too far away for comfort, when your metric of separation is exceeded. You will abandon your tasty morsel and return reluctantly, casting wistful backward glances at what you had to forego.

 Your smell lingers at home. The water bowl is full. There is a full meal in your plate. All you need to do is turn up now. You may tap me with your paws and threaten to climb into bed if you don’t get your walk on time. Please, just once you need to bark in that complaining whining sort of fashion. Neither angry nor nasty, just impatient. 

 It is not even the weekend. You will not allow me a lie-in like you do on weed ends and bank holidays. You know a lot more than you let on. Your barks get increasingly more frequent, stubbornly insistent. You drool through the gaps in your teeth and eventually, I accept defeat and succumb to your bullying. 

 So, yes. Monty G, you are missing. That is all. We are walking in the woods. Just me and your brown lead, and a missing chocolate lab. You smile down at me from dog heaven as I whistle shoooeee phoooeeee shoooeee. The metric of separation has long been overshot. You need to return. You must. Please