Dear Georgia

Dearest Georgia aka Butterface,

The house seems empty without you this morning as I wake up during the time when you and I would be getting ready for our walk. I think I’ve only missed a handful of morning walks with you, and despite the darkness, cold, and rain, I never resented our time together in the morning. It seems apt that I spend this time that we would normally spend together to recount some memories, because I don’t want to forget. I’m sad that we didn’t get time to give you even more experiences and memories, we thought we would have many more years.

We’re all heartbroken that you never got to celebrate your first gotcha day with us. Lana had planned to make you a mince and cream cake and I had got you a new sloth collar. The day would have been spent at the beach followed by naps and food.

In the time that you were with us you have captured our hearts in different ways and we really hope that we in turn gave you the best final months of your (short) life.

While the children may have complained about you not being a “normal” dog in the sense of what they might have expected, I always understood that this was your retirement and so all those frivolous things that puppies might do was beyond you and you just wanted to do things at your pace and in your own time. I can totally relate to that. You suited our family rhythm so perfectly.

This is how I think you ranked the humans:
Me = the bossy one who told you off but who loved getting into your face the most with kisses and hugs
Paul = the affectionate one, who always stood up for you and spoilt you because you could do no wrong
Lana = the one who loved to spoil you with treats and when she thought I wasn’t looking even more treats and managed to take the best comedy photos of you
Lex = the fun one who would run with you and took you to hidden park and who you allowed to wrestle and put you in odd poses and positions without ever once complaining

Thank you for also creating these memories:

– answering to “Roger”, “Idiot Dog”, “Gorgeous Girl”, but not Butterface
– the ability to leap from lying down to begging by the kitchen when you heard the snap of the plastic tub
– the inability to hear your name when you were told to “get off the sofa”
– your love of roast dinner
– the breath of death that could kill an elephant
– impressive farts that always cleared the room
– our early morning walks that never went too far as neither of us could be that bothered
– your sheer stubbornness when you didn’t want to go a certain way
– your ability to be spooked by fluff in the air
– your gentle and docile ladylike nature
– the need to be close to us physically, but not actually touching
– putting up with us when we demanded cuddles and hugs
– the way you would lift your head and look at me when I stopped scratching your chest as if to say “did I say you could stop?”
– keeping me company (being underfoot) when I worked from the sofa
– standing at the top of the stairs and whining when you wanted to go out for a wee
– when you try to chatter but you can’t properly because of your missing teeth
– the way you walked so politely on a lead
– pushing your head against and in between our legs when you wanted a neck rub
– sneaking into the boy’s room or under his desk when there was a storm/fireworks/car backfiring
– insisting on nibbling on grass even though you were told not to
– digging holes along all the fence line even though you were told not to
– the time you ran off down the street and had the human chase after you in bare feet
– leaping up for walks when you heard your collar being jiggled or you heard me say “come on then”
– your sleep whoops and dancing feet as you chased imaginary fluffy things in your dreams
– your roaching within a week of being with us
– chewing through a wall your first time being left home alone
– your random walk-by licks on an arm, leg, knee, shoulder, to show your affection
– the way you would bound down the stairs as soon as you heard a car door close to look outside and then have a drink
– the way you would come and greet the children at the front door when they came home from school
– when you barked at the neighbours dog as it came up to the window – we could count the number of times you barked on one hand
– how you were not really fussed about other dogs and seem more content with your own company
– how you loved meeting new people when they came to the house with inappropriate crotch sniffing
– the time the Crowthers came round for dinner and you had escaped to the back yard through an open door and you ran rings around Paul and in the end he had to rugby tackle you down to the ground by the ensuite windows
– at the beach when you ran along the surf with Lex but didn’t want to get too far into the sea
– at Lake Taupo when you drunk the lake water
– all the times you sleep startled and lashed out and then got confused as to why you were being told off
– the way one ear would perk up when you were half asleep as if you were worried you’d miss something
– how the consistency of your poop became a daily conversation piece
– insisting on drinking rain water from the bucket on the balcony
– going on the balcony when it wasn’t too hot and sunbathing
– poking your nose outside of the window in the lounge
– sticking your head outside of the car window and slobbering all over the leather car seats
– the first time we got you in the car journey home you laid on Lana’s lap and yesterday you did the same thing with Lana
– the way you came into the lounge and always tried your luck to get into the corner gap
– having the softest ears
– how you would get playful and air-bitey when get excited from head scratches
– learning within a few days that the kitchen floor was out of bounds but that didn’t stop you from bending your neck around the cupboard as far as you could
– tolerating impromptu showers on the balcony with Lex scrubbing you and pouring water over you

Your favourite spots to lie in the house in order:

– on the corner of the lounge suite in the gap between the new ottoman and sofa (only when you were allowed)
– in front of the TV
– in between the sofa and the recliner blocking the door
– in the office
– along the black chaise
– by the alcove
– by the bookcase
– by the comic chair
– in the middle of the lounge by the kitchen (most inconvenient)
– on the stairs landing

These are just some of the things I can recall on the first day you are not here, I’m sure there will be more moments that will spring to mind and they will be accompanied by more tears, but I hope the sadness will be replaced with happy memories of what we gained and not what we lost.

That final Thursday we treated you to ice-cream with a waffle cone which you demolished in the back of Paul’s car and you laid on the woolen cot blanket that belonged to Lana and Lex. You seem content to lie there just chilling out as I brought the children home from school early. When you were carried upstairs you were allowed to lie on the black sofa which must have really confused you (because you were not normally allowed on the sofa).

Paul opened the expensive ham, cooked you some sausages and roast pork belly. We knew how much you loved those things and we’re glad you got to indulge that afternoon. You also got to walk around the back garden and even though you tried to paw at the piggie’s hutch you were so well behaved.

When the decision came to let you go before you suffered any further, I knew that I had to hold it together for the rest of the family and that if I could do one final thing for you it was to let you know that you were loved and safe. I was always going to be there with you until the very end and as I held your head and looked straight into your eyes in the last moments in the back of the car at the vet’s car park, it was important that you knew that you are loved and that you saw me and I saw you, my good Georgia-Borgia girl.