A Friend at the End

Its 5am Sunday morning and I’m trying to coax our blind golden retriever down the stairs.  This is akin to talking someone down off the ledge.  Whilst I cajole and comfort her, stroking her shivering body (she’s always been a nervous dog) the cat comes over and adds her silent solidarity but with a look on her face that can’t quite fathom why a 40kg  animal is too scared to descend a flight of steps.  In the end, my patience running out and pushed by the derision in the cat’s eyes, I take hold of Molly’s collar and pull.   We’ve found that once she gets her paws over the top step she can then propell herself down, toboggan-like slipping and sliding on the stone.  Still you have to watch her all the way as unable to count she has a habit of forgetting about the last step after the turn and lands in a mighty, and no doubt painful, thud at the bottom.  This is how we start our day with Molly.  Being a grand old lady dog she can’t make it through the night without having to go outside and leave a yellow ring on Mr. Jules’ lawn.

I make tea whilst she navigates the garden, switch on the outside lights then remember they won’t make a blind bit of difference to her, and wait for her return.  We have to be careful not to move things around the house or garden.  A misplaced garden hose will stop her in her tracks and bring forth a series of confused yelps whilst she waits for us to rescue her and an aluminium bbq tray carried by the wind will have her running for cover, and usually hitting her head on a table or chair in her panicked forgetfulness.   Her breathing ricochets from being so laboured at times we worry that she is having a heart attack to being so subliminal that on many occasions we fear the worst.

We are here for her. 

This week I heard about the demise of a lady I used to  know.  At one time, due to family connections, we were very close.  In the happy days we enjoyed each other’s company, remembered birthdays and shared our lives  but circumstances within the family- a nasty divorce – meant that the relationship came to an abrupt end because sides were taken and family loyalty took preference over friendship.  When I heard she was ill I did think about calling or writing and eventually I sent a postcard (a cowardly non-commitment) which I later heard had made her cry. 

She had no daughters, only a son, a brother and a husband with dementia to help her through a long and painful illness.  Now in the sadness that follows I wonder whether she was looked after at the end, whether someone made sure she was wearing a fresh night gown, had gently washed her face with a cool flannel and had held her hand.