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How does one live without breath?

This is how it feels to me. It's three months on, and I keep waiting for it to feel real, to feel bearable.

Nine years ago, we brought home a nine month old Belgian Tervueren. Our son, who was eight at the time was terrified of dogs, so we found the biggest, scariest looking, gentlest breed we could find. The breeder had kept Rush for show and stud which is why he was nine months old when we got him, but he'd broken a tooth so she had to find him a home. When we visited the breeder we had no intention of committing to a dog but after an afternoon surrounded by leaping dogs, something about Rush convinced us we could not live without him. He was quiet, possessed of some inner composure that made one feel safe. When he laid his head in our son's lap that was it. He was the first dog our son had touched. His terror of dogs was such that he would see one and run, even into traffic, blind with fear, and yet this one dog had won his trust effortlessly. As our son stroked his head we knew he was ours.

Being a working breed, Rush needed a LOT of exercise and mental stimulation. I worked hard with him every day to make sure he was happy. Hours and hours of walking, long ball games, a backpack to make a walk a work-out. But that was only half of it. He needed mental challenge too. I'd teach him tricks, I'd throw the ball and he'd have to wait until I told him he could get it.... his whole body trembling with anticipation.... I've never known a dog as eager to please. He learned to find lost objects which came in handy if I dropped something while walking. He went everywhere with me. I've never met a dog quite like him.

One day when I was laid up with an injury and unable to walk, my neighbour offered to loan me a video. As I couldn't walk round to get it, she jokingly said "Send Rush round for it." I thought, why not! I put his backpack on and he knew straight away he had a job to do. I opened the door and said "Find Cerys". Cerys is the neighbour's dog. He took off like a shot. My neighbour said she heard a thump and looked up to find him standing, front paws either side of the glass on the door, peering in.

She put the videos in his pack along with a biscuit for payment and said "Go home". That became his party trick. She'd ring up and ask me to send him over because she'd have been telling someone about it and they wouldn't believe her.

He filled every part of my day. He was there when I woke in the morning. He was there as I went about my chores. He was there when I went to bed at night. A loving, constant, protective presence that felt like sunshine.

Then in February something changed. He became terribly ill suddenly. The Animal Health Trust in Newmarket was outstanding. They took him straight in and were able to get us a diagnosis in less than 24 hours. Gastric carcinoma. Aggressive, untreatable, invariably fatal. My husband and son were skiing in France but got the next flight home. Everything about Rush was telling me he was ready to go... but he hung on for them. One terrible night to get through. He had enough medicine to keep him comfortable - there was no way I was going to let him suffer. The boys arrived home the next morning and Rush perked up. He managed a family walk, a short one, but it was more than I thought he'd do. He even chased the ball a few times. He seemed, for those few moments, like himself. Then we got home and he collapsed on the sofa. We spent the afternoon just holding him. The four of us on the sofa in each others arms. We could feel him slipping away.

The vet arrived in the late afternoon to help him. We'd left the door open so she just came in. Our beloved companion of nine years passed away peacefully in our arms.

I cannot seem to come to terms with it. I feel like a part of me died with him. It's not just me... it's hit us all this way.

There was a night a few years back when I was alone in the house with Rush. The boys were skiing. We live in the country and are surrounded by fields and forest. Rush and I were relaxing, watching telly, a typical winter evening, when suddenly he flew off the sofa and hurled himself at the back door, snarling. I'd never seen him do that so I opened the door. He took off like a rocket for the bottom of the garden, making a noise like a demon. Then he came trotting back looking pleased with himself. The next morning I took a walk down to the bottom of the garden, and found a strip of someone's jumper!! Whoever was daft enough to jump our fence only ever did it once!

There are so many stories... so many memories. It's helped a little to share them, though I know I must be rambling on. I've looked at a couple of threads here briefly and it's a help to see that others feel this way, even after a significant amount of time. I keep feeling like I should get a grip and get on with life. I've been staying busy- stupidly busy at times- because when I slow down the tears return.

Does it ever get any better?

How does one accept what feels completely unacceptable? I always knew his lifespan would be shorter than ours, but this happened so fast and far too soon. He knew my thoughts. He knew my heart. He knew me better than I did! I've had dogs all my life, but I've never had a bond like this. I don't know how to deal with losing it.

Hello Hannah, Your story of the life you spent with your adorable Rush has made me cry, but also made me so glad for you that you spent such a wonderful time with Rush. He sounds absolutely adorable and I share your sadness. I lost my beloved cat, Toffee, over three years ago, and I never thought I would ever be able to get over her loss. I still cry for her; she was a special little girl and we and everyone who met her adored her. I still have her little basket of toys in the same place they always were. We love our animals so much and never think of the time of parting; all I can say Hannah is that you had the most incredible love and relationship with Rush and his life was so happy and he knew how much loved he was. I have just started fostering a 10 month old kitten from the Cats Protection; she was pregnant and has had 4 kittens; I feel that Toffee will always be on my mind and in my heart, but she would be glad that I am able to help a little cat in need. Take care, Hannah, the pain is unbearable I know, but I am always here as are others if you ever want to talk. I feel your pain, have felt it myself, and my heart goes out to you. Hugs xxxxxx Penny

Thank you, Penny. Not only for your kindness, but for sharing about your sweet Toffee! She sounds like a wonderful cat. I'm so glad you have a little kitten now... I'll bet you're right... I'm sure it makes Toffee happy. (((hug)))

I'm always here Hannah; please get in touch if you want to talk. I will be thinking of you all; bless you ; Hugs xxx

Dear Hannah, I read your blog and it made me cry, I really sympathise with how you are feeling and your grief. My beloved tom cat Fidel was killed by a car 12 weeks ago and the grief is still raw. I miss him every second. I see him in the play of his sister Che and in Che's love, but there is a huge hole without him. I popped out in my lunch break at work before writing this and saw the beautiful blue sky and the first thought I had was how can there be such a wonderful blue sky without my Fidel. I would be lying if I said it gets easier, but I think you can cope with the emotions easier and you will be able to do so in time. Its so wonderful that you shared such a bond with Rush and you will always have those precious memories and the knowledge of the happiness you brought to Rush and that Rush brought to you and your family, that is irreplaceable and does not go away when a beloved pet passes on. I have come to believe since Fids passed that his spirit is always with me and I am always with him, myself, his sister Che and me, we are all united in body and spirit and I can only give thanks that I treasured every single moment with such a beautiful creature. Rush would have felt your unconditional love and that will always be there. I wish you every happiness, peace and comfort going forward, My best wishes Nicola

Dear Nicola,
Thank you for your sympathetic words, and thank you for the hope that they bring.
I know what you mean about feeling Fidel with you.
I agree with you too, that the sun should simply stop shining when there is a loss like this. These animals make up the very best part of us and when we lose them the world really should stop with us in honour of them! Nicola, I wish you the imminent return of joy. A heart as kind as yours does not deserve too heavy a grief.

Thank you so much for your kind words too Hannah, that really does mean a lot. The Ralph site is wonderful in providing such an important forum to share stories of loss, of joy, happiness with our beloved pets and provide such an important way of simply sharing with others which really does help in supporting each other through the loss, pain and grief. My thoughts are with you and I wish you every happiness too, Nicola