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My dog Maisie bore a striking resemblance to Princess Diana. Looking across at her one evening, she shot me a look and I saw it. With those beseeching big eyes, she was a dead-ringer for the People’s Princess in that infamous “three of us in this marriage” interview. I ended up entering her into a lookalike competition for that year’s Pride. And she won, but only because a Scottish border terrier — apparently the spitting image of Jackie Collins — failed to show up.
Obviously, after I wrote about her for the Guardian, the locals in our trendy Crouch End park soon got wind of it. They would stop us to ask if Maisie was the “Princess Diana dog” and we would joke about her being harassed by the paparazzi. One humourless reader didn’t really get the joke. He wrote to the newspaper: “Bindel has gone too far this time. That dog looks nothing like Princess Diana!”
But like Diana, Maisie was heartbreakingly beautiful, a Spaniel-Collie cross with a long coat and soulful eyes. Her legs were slightly too short for her body, which made her all the more lovable. But before she came to us, someone had abandoned her. According to her profile on a rescue charity’s website, it said she would be put to sleep the following day unless she was claimed. We did. And we were besotted.
Her reputation — and her bark — soon preceded her. Our local park has a tennis court attached, and Maisie would gallop in and grab a ball, mid-serve. The Crouch End tennis gang were rarely amused. She even made a name for herself in media circles: if ever my partner Harriet or I were doing interviews, Maisie would inevitably bark her head off. Producers would have to decide whether to rerecord the segment or broadcast her voice on Radio 4 or Sky News.
Maisie brought us joy in private as well as in public. With us, she was sweet, cuddly and affectionate, though she barked at everyone else. And she was insecure. If Harriet and I were sitting together on the sofa, she would try to separate us with her paws. She had never got over whatever had happened to her in her former life. We supported her with her trauma, and she helped us when we needed comfort after a bad day. Harriet, a lawyer, and I both do work that takes us to very dark places, dealing with the detail of the worst excesses of men’s violence. It’s not uncommon for us to be talking about murder, prostitution and child sexual abuse before 8am. But having a creature who would greet us joyfully, blissfully unaware of the terrible things humans are capable of, was always incredibly therapeutic.
And we repaid that joy with love and attention and vast vast vets bills. I’ve never felt more middle-class than when I had to tell an editor that I couldn’t knock out a piece in the next hour because I had to take the dog to hydrotherapy. She had fortnightly appointments ever since she developed arthritis. She also had monthly vaccinations to keep the condition at bay, and check-ups for her kidney disease and pancreatitis. People without pets will howl at the expense, but I had always felt lucky we could afford this sort of care.
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SubscribeThere is almost nothing as uncomplicatedly joyful and life-affirming as getting home to your dog’s tail wagging furiously in excitement to greet you.
I think it’s deeper than just love of a pet. It’s an echo of 30,000+ years of inter-species mutual dependence. A bond which has shaped us around each other.
I walk our dog on fields nearby where its safe for him off lead. He runs off to sniff, scratch and play, then I whistle and he sprints back to my side. No matter what else is going on, in that moment everything feels right.
Did Julie have children? Pity if not. Women like her – loving and successful neglecting to have children is sad – sad for society, and I believe, for them.
You are revolting
I will never apologise for grieving for my beloved Jack. He was a very handsome sable-coloured mutt, predominately a beagle-collie mix, whom we adopted on 1 August 2009. Despite his smaller stature, he had a big personality, and a special fondness for women. Jack was a robust little creature, and his only health issue were annual late-summer allergies which manifested as hot spots on his skin. I learnt to catch and treat them early. In September of 2022, I noticed that he had developed a small mast cell tumour, a canine skin cancer, which we had removed in November of 2022. He seemed to have a new lease on life, but his recovery was short lived. The tumour returned with a vengeance, and it did not respond to the various chemotherapy drugs we threw at it.
In early March of 2023, I understood that it was time to free him from his broken body. Jack died at home, assisted by a veterinary surgeon, surrounded by the people who loved him, and whom he loved. Our other dog Louie was there as well. The grief was physically painful, and even now whilst writing this, the tears flow freely. I miss Jack every day, but he lives on in our memories and in our hearts. As our late Queen Elizabeth famously said: grief is the price we pay for love.
P.S. Just like Julie, I also began looking at rescues who had dogs for adoption a few weeks after Jack’s death. Mostly, because Louie was so lonely and sad. Animals mourn, too, and Louie would spend hours staring at the wall. We ended up with a puppy, Remy, who had lost his mother. He doesn’t look like Jack, which is fine as he was never meant to be a replacement. Louie still misses his best friend, the dog who helped raise him after he came to us as a tiny foster puppy just 8 weeks old on Christmas Eve 2016, but he is more like his old normal self. We muddle through together, and I am sure Jack is smiling down on us from his little cloud.
When the ancient Romans were not indulging in Bacchanalian orgies, blood sports or abusing their slaves, they too had time for their pets.
Here is 1st-2nd century epitaph inscription on a marble plaque that covered the grave of the splendid dog Margarita.*
“Gaul gave me my birth and the pearl-oyster from the seas full of treasure my name, an honour fitting to my beauty. I was trained to run boldly through strange forests and to hunt out furry wild beasts in the hills never accustomed to be held by heavy chains nor endure cruel beatings on my snow-white body. I used to lie on the soft lap of my master and mistress and knew to go to bed when tired on my spread mattress and I did not speak more than allowed as a dog, given a silent mouth No-one was scared by my barking but now I have been overcome by death from an ill-fated birth and earth has covered me beneath this small piece of marble.”
MARGARITA
(*The Latin for Pearl.)
Nice contribution. Thanks.
Thank you for posting this.
An extremely popular song late 1800s, Stephen Foster
”Old Dog Tray Lyrics(Verse 1)
The morn of life is past
And evening comes at last
It brings me a dream of a once happy day
Of merry forms I’ve seen
Upon the village green
Sporting with my old dog Tray
(Chorus)
Old dog Tray’s every faithful
Grief cannot drive him away
He’s gentle, he is kind
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray
(Verse 2)
The forms I call’d my own
Have vanished one by one
The lov’d ones, the dear ones have all passed away
Their happy smiles have flown
Their gentle voices gone
I’ve nothing left but old dog Tray
(Chorus)
Old dog Tray’s every faithful
Grief cannot drive him away
He’s gentle, he is kind
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray
When thoughts recall the past
His eyes are on my cast
I know that he feels what my breaking heart would say
Although he cannot speak
I’ll vainly, vainly seek
A better friend than old dog Tray
(Chorus)
Old dog Tray’s every faithful
Grief cannot drive him away
He’s gentle, he is kind
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray
Great stuff, thanks!
There are two dog poems I like . Mathew Arnold’s celebration of his dachshund Geist , dead at only three . And DH Lawrence’s poem about his mongrel Bibbles.
Thanks for that!
May she rest in peace.
Just a small speak up for cats – my beloved Tahar who held me together through grief and house moves and building work (coming to inspect the work every evening with me, walking half a mile to do so). I will love her always even though there is now Nutmeg who has stolen my heart and my bed and occasionally my food. These relationships matter because we don’t really understand them. We are not in charge. We each strive to understand the other. They go wrong when we think we are superior.
I grieved for my cat too. My relationship with him was just like the one with my teddy bear when I was a child.
And well done, Julie – not a single moron trying to dismiss you. Is this a first?
I know people will call me a hypocrite for promoting the value of having a pet, particularly during a cost-of-living crisis.
Why? If you can afford a pet, that’s your business. And it is perfectly natural to grieve when they’re gone. We may differ on what the timeframe should be, but that’s also your business.
What I will take exception to is people who equate pets with children. I’ve had the former and have the latter. They’re not the same things. Pets are almost guaranteed to die before you do; a child dying first violates the order of things. A pet can be quickly replaced, as this article shows, in short order. Try getting a new child within a month or two after losing one.
Otherwise, animals are a nice-to-have part of life. We have a street cat who periodically drops by. He’s friendly and affectionate, occasionally stays overnight during particularly frosty weather, has a snack, and then resumes his patrol of the neighborhood. He’s ours without really being ours, a curious arrangement, but I enjoy seeing him.
Can fully empathise. We have cats but sense of loss still the same. Had to have one put to sleep and cried like a baby afterwards. We now have two young and very active Bengals, who we take out for a walk on leads when the weather is ok.
Like cats, dogs kept as pets are treated as honorary humans.
I once knew a young person from a country in the Indian Ocean who thought it ludicrous that people kept dogs in their houses, gave them names, buying them Christmas presents, dressing them in clothes, and talked about them as if they were members of the family.
In some parts of the world dogs are yard animals, kept for security purposes. As was reported recently, the Koreans are one nation that has them on the menu. Even the excellent Gallic Margarita was prized primarily as an efficient hunter. What accounts for modern Europeans humanising dogs?
There was a cartoon by Gary Larson that depicted what we say to dogs – “Keep out of the trash, Fido” – and what they hear – “%$£*@”. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m indulgent of my relatives’ dog, feeding it all sorts of treats. I’m sure it would talk if it could.
Writing as an anthropologist, dogs have a unique relationship with humans in many parts of the world. They are often seen to be half way between human and other animals. It’s not a coincidence that they were the first animal to be domesticated! Even in Korea, where, as you note, dogs are eaten as food (although attitudes have changed a lot since I was doing fieldwork there in the early noughties), their flesh, especially when eaten in the form of dog soup at the height of summer, was seen to have beneficial health effects. That said, they do seem to have taken on new roles as honorary humans in western contexts (regrettably – I’m part of that despised sub-species of humans: dog haters). If you’re interested in an anthropological take on dogs, you can read more about the topic here: https://silentbutdeadly.substack.com/p/must-love-dogs
FWIW the Gary Larson cartoon I’ve seen goes (I think):
What dogs hear: “%$£*@, Fido”
What cats hear: “%$£*@.”
It’s good that the vet was able to come to your home, Julie. A business has recently opened in our town centre providing this service. It calls itself Final Rest. Mrs U calls it Dognitas.
I see that someone else on here had a beloved dog named Jack. “Our Jack” as we called him was a handsome, dashing English cocker spaniel, black as sable all over. We loved him so much. He traveled the world with us, a wonderful ambassador for dogs everywhere he went. He accompanied us on trips in our small airplane too, he loved to fly but didn’t like the vibration of the plane, so he’d sit on my lap. A comfy ride for him, not so much for me. He died in 2009 and I still dream of him and see him frolicking. In fact I dreamt of him just last night. A dear friend told me it’s God’s way of allowing us more time with our beloveds. I’ll take it.
Our Jack also flew with us. My husband is a private pilot, and Jack was a natural flier. He loved every mode of transport, was utterly fearless, and even though he needed help to board and exit the plane, he was always on top of every situation. I wish that I could post a picture of him here.
Sorry for your loss, Julie and Harriet, I empathize completely.
Beautifully written piece. Very happy you have jumped right in with another furry soul companion for life. Enjoy your Ruby girl.
A Border Collie is the only friend you will ever have who loves you more than it loves itself.
On July 5, 2022, early in the morning, my big, beautiful boy, Eddie, was literally screaming as he fell the cat door. He was agony, throwing up everywhere. I grabbed his carrier and shoved him in. I was speeding down the highway—75 in a 50 mph speed limit, think God there was little traffic—to the emergency vet. I was supposed to call before they let me in, but I ran to the door and pounded on it. He kept screaming. They took him immediately, but I got bad mews lumbar thrumbosis. Fatal. When they brought him in to me, he was unconscious, which made me sad, because I couldn’t tell him I was there and loved him. My other cat would sit on the deck calling for him a week later. He was an 18 pound, brown and black tabby and the gentlest cat I’ve ever known. I still think of him. Now let me talk about my $5000 other cat. . . . . . .
Ridiculous? What’s ridiculous is to turn one’s nose up at the grief of another over the loss of an animal friend. Being a “cat person,” I can say that my relationship with the feline mystique is uniquely profound and precious. A cat is a more purr (pure) line to relationship, a being without the ego and complications of humanity. There is something radiant in a cat’s aura. I’m sure dog lovers have similarly strong feelings for their canine friends, even if it takes an entirely different form (considering the two couldn’t be more dissimilar, as a general rule).
You’re right. I’m neither a dog or cat person. Some I love, some I like, some annoy me to no end. Rather, I’m a hawk person, a falconer. I had never experienced the depth of loss over an animal as I did with one particular hawk I worked with. The inscrutable bond I had with that bird became evident with the depth of grief I felt when he died in my hands (cause never fully determined). It was profound, and from that I know that I could never turn my “nose up at the grief of another over the loss of an animal friend.”
Nice article, made me cry a little. I miss our old boy Ted everyday – also had euthanise him just before Christmas. He used to wag his tail with his whole heart and was a rescue, an older dog whose owner became too ill to care for him. It took him a bit but he settled in with Cher our Springer and we found we had a beautiful old gentlemen possessed of such joie de vivre that every day he made us laugh along with him. Our neighbours called him ‘Smiley Dog’ and he was/is irreplaceable. We now have another canine refugee from life’s vicissitudes – not a replacement but an marvellous addition to the our furry crew. Grief is the price of love – our late Queen as in so much else was dead right here too and while I will mourn Ted always, Paddy is a lovely blessing. If there is room in your heart for one, there’ll be room for others too and a heart full of love will cushion loss.