Jan 28th

Early in the morning, before dawn breaks, all one can her now are the robins. The ravens start calling about an hour later.

It was mild when I left the house at 7.40 a.m., the wind from the North East had not picked up yet. There were thick clouds both in the East, hiding the dawn light, and in the West. But in between were patches of clear sky, tinted a delicate pale blue and soft yellowy pink.

I went along the wall near the first field. Madame loved walking along the wall and he trees. It is like a huge dog newspaper.

When I got to the top of the big field, there were raven calls, and I saw one, who flew from one of the tall trees in the spinney further down into a smaller one. As I rounded the spinney into the ravens field, no raven was there on the grass.

But then, getting to the enclosure, there they were, sitting on a fence post, one to the right, one to the lft of me. I hadn't seen them  flying there, because it was still too dark. 

Again, it was my young pair, and again they were very shy, picking up the scraps I threw into the enclosure only after my back was turned. Going back into the big field the 'more food' way, none followed at first - then one came, flying to the ground. His companion did not come, and he flew off after he'd got a couple more scraps. The quarry pair did not turn up, nor did my bold raven.

I assume the flock of little black-headed gulls circling overhead kept them away.

And then there were Toby and Cookie, the Border Collies, with their owners. I went up to talk to them. Both had lost dogs before, so they knew what it is like for me. Both miss Madame, who always was so happy to greet them with ecstatic face licks. 

Again, I had scraps left over when I went back home - they used to be for our last little obedience exercise. I still can see her happyy face, looking up expectantly, tail wagging, smiling, doing her heel work ...

Jan 27th

The ravens calls I heard in the distance, early this morning, were nearly drowned out  by the robins' songs.

I left the house at 7.30 a.m., to an incipient dawn, with the light in the East hidden behind thick, dark clouds. It was cold, the temperature was just below freezing.

There were no ravens when I walked to the ravens field, using a route which Madame used to love walking and sniffing in the spring and summer. So I suddenly appeared in the ravens field from yet another direction - but one raven, sitting in one of the maples at the tennis court fence, made a soft quorking sound - he had seen me. 

At first I went to the wall, to the bench - and he did come to the ground, following me - but keeping a good five yards away. His companion was in the enclosure, but came when I started to throw scraps. They were my young pair, and they were much more shy and diffident than the last time I saw them, with Madame still at my side.

I went to the enclosure and threw more scraps into it - both ravens again keeping well on the opposite side to where I was standing. 

I left by walking into the spinney, the way Madame loved to walk, and came out on the side of the big field where she always came out. One raven had flown to sit on one of the small wild cherry trees at the spinney, as if checking that I was leaving the 'no more food' way. Sorry about that, ravens!

They did fly to the ground, at the top of the big field, when they saw me there, and got some more scraps. Still, they kept well away, and then went off before I had finished. The quarry pair did not turn up today. There were no dogs around at that time, not close nor in the distance, so I don't know what happened.

I went home, with just the amount of scraps left which would have gone into Madame, as reward for her good behaviour.

I miss her more than I can say.

Jan 26th

I left the house at 7.20 a.m. It was dark, not even a hint of dawn, but it was mild. 

I had heard raven calls a good hour before I left, and later there were robins singing their hearts out.

This was a difficult walk, my heart was heavy. I walked all round Llandaff Fields, not our usual routes but combining the two. I needed to say good-bye, for Madame Dog, to all her favourite places.

I had brought scraps for the ravens, but as I walked into the ravens field from the far end, coming from the little arboretum, I was not looking out for the ravens. I walked all along the fence and wall, bordering the allotments at the top of the ravens field - that was where we played all those summers, first with Big Dog, then just Madame and me.

The bold raven came as I approached the enclosure - he was not sure about me, because not only did I come from a different direction, I also was on my own. 

He had watched me from one of the big maples along the wall.

So I threw some scraps - and his companion came as well. I told them that Madame had died, and that she would never bark at them, chase them, or stare at them ever again.

As I went to the big field, Bas and Karen turned up - Bas running joyfully towards me. I told Karen that Madame Dog had died. We separated at the spinney, and I went back into the ravens field, crying and feeding the ravens.

They followed me back into the big field, the bold raven walking behind me, cawing loudly. As I threw scraps for him and his companion, the quarry pair also turned up, making quorking sounds behind my back. When I turned round, they both were displaying that juvenile begging posture.

When all the scraps had gone, I went back, lonely and sad, but determined not to forsake the ravens.

Jan 25th

My beloved Madame died this morning, in my arms.

We were at the vet's, and having talked through all the options, I decided that even taking her home again would have been too much of a torment for her.

So I held her tight while the medication went in, she didn't know a thing and was gone even before the syringe was empty.

Loving someone, a person or a pet, also means we must have the fortitude to let them go, for their own sake, no matter how hard it is for us.

I hope to pick up with the ravens in the next couple of days, when I have no more tears to cry.

Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers.

Sunday, Jan 24th

We made it through the night. At one point I thought we wouldn't, madame having trouble breathing. But she is such a tough little girlie - and she most definitely does not want me to even give the hint of fussing and being worried.

As reward, in the morning, I was greeted with her wagging tail, as she was lying on the carpet.

We're taking this day as another gift - both of us struggling a bit: Madame with her illness, weakness and pain, me with trying my best to make her feel normal, and not fussing even though I want to carry her on my arms.

As long as she manages to wag her tail now and then, for a brief moment, I am contented.
Not crying is the hardest bit.