It was a slow gentle start to the day, I woke to find Leo (my scruffy dog), curled up under my chin, his chest gently rising and falling with each breath, and his heart beating steadily in the palm of my hand that held him. The weight pressing against the back of my legs, I knew was my beautiful, big dog Platonas, who customarily curls neatly behind my knees; well as neatly as a 30 Kg , majestic, athletic dog can be! I must have stirred slightly, belying my wakefulness, as I soon heard Poppy’s tail thumping hard, as she wagged it enthusiastically from her bed on the floor next to me. Poppy is a Diva, and sometimes prefers her own space to sleep in, unlike the boys who prefer to remain in contact with me, even if it’s just a paw touching my leg on hot summer nights.
This morning however, there was a freshness in the air, on a sweet September day as summer starts to fade, signaling the approach of autumn. As Leo sighed and snuggled a bit closer, Poppy took her cue and jumped over both of us, then wriggled herself between my shoulder blades, her head reaching towards Platonas, her tail thrashing happily on the pillow next to me. This is how my mornings greet me, with love, warmth, happiness, affection and enthusiasm; it’s hard not to feel full to the brim with gratitude, even when it’s frequently way earlier than I would choose it to be!
The boys would probably let me lie in, content to cuddle in peaceful slumber, but not so Poppy! She’s too much of a minx, whom, after a minute of snuggles, fidgets and grumbles before leaping off the bed to position herself on the floor with her face close to mine, where she proceeds to tell me (in something not quite a growl, softer than a bark, but quite insistently), that it’s time to get up and embrace the day that is waiting.
I usually buy myself a little extra snuggle time, by drawing the blinds, and returning under the duvet to let the dogs climb all over me, before settling down when the treat jar appears, for some impulse control training (placing treats on their paws, waiting for eye contact from all three together, before giving permission to eat them).
Today the weather was cool and grey, but my view across the hills of rolling countryside is still inspiring, so it wasn’t long before I grabbed a warm sweater and a thick pair of socks, before chasing the dogs downstairs, and out in to the garden. The dew lay thick on the grass, and a dampness in the air prompted donning my winter jacket as I waited in the doorway, one eye on the dogs, one ear listening for the coffee in the mocha pot to gurgle in readiness.
I have a wooden table and bench tucked around the corner of the house, facing the sunrise in an eastward direction, where I am hidden from view in my interesting ensemble of pyjamas, hiking boots, and quilted jacket; my hot coffee cradled in my hands, and the dogs waiting, not terribly patiently, for breakfast. They tear round the garden, dig a little around the flower beds, and eventually ‘sniff n scoff’ the kibble I spread over the lawn, it’s one giant, natural snuffle mat to increase the duration of the meal and prevent indigestion. A gentle breeze sent a cascade of leaves down from the apple tree; the boughs are bowed, laden with fruit. The crispy brown leaves litter the lawn, amongst the fallen fruit, and there’s a faint damp smell of autumn in the air.
After breakfast, then some tidying up and un-packing, (one seems to negate the other, but its all still going in the right direction, albeit slowly), I did some laundry and changed the bed. My white fluffy cloud of a bed, with its feather topper and plethora of pillows (8 plus 2 cushions – yes I’m a princess!), doesn’t stay white for long, now that I share it with the dogs. I’d just finished smoothing the duvet cover when Platonas came looking for me, so I lay on the bed and waited for him to come up for a cuddle, he’s been ever so affectionate recently, probably because of the recent move to our new home, but I think because he’s happy. It wasn’t long before both Leo and Poppy sought us out, and jumped on the bed with us, playfully nuzzling and mouthing, until I was covered in a squirming pile of dogs that suddenly flopped exhausted and panting, and I realised as we lay there how happy I am, that this furry family found me. Then I thought about how lucky I am that they all adore each other, and how blessed we are with our new home (a 16th century thatched cottage), and how much the dogs enjoy our sizeable garden, how friendly the village is, and how very grateful I am for all of it.. then it hit me, how much I wished my Dad was still alive to witness all of this happiness, and the tears fell down my face, pressed into the furry necks conveniently placed in close proximity.
Grief is a strange creature, I have been acquainted with this particular emotion for almost a year since my dad’s passing. I no longer cry every day, perhaps not even usually once a week. When the waves come they no longer drown me, just knock me over, so that I stumble in my tears for only a few moments, before finding my balance, (and hopefully a tissue), take a deep breath and glance to the heavens to tell Dad how much I love and miss him. Probably because it’s a year since we knew he was ill, when a much smaller version of the Dad I was familiar with, sat in his hospital bed; that I am feeling the waves of grief more frequently (at least 3 times this week). But I also think that I miss him more because I am so happy with my life, and want to share it with him, much more so than when I’m sad or struggling. There is a bitter sweetness, finding the grief is more potent in times of happiness, but there is also a strange comfort in the emotions that refuse to submit to a world without him. So the tears are welcome, my Dad isn’t here to see how happy I am, but he is still infused in my life, especially the best bits!
Photo & words by me, Hayley Darby © 2017