Blond, Beautiful…and gone forever…!!!
She came home 9 years ago, this 2 month old flaming orange bundle of energy. And promptly began chewing up everything in sight. She was teething.
And 9 years later, she left us all forever.
Mum – who always followed the ‘see but don’t touch, don’t get too close to me’ with any pet, could not watch television without Wendy lying under her feet. When the crackers went off and Wendy trembled uncontrollably, she held her close until the noise stopped and the trembling subsided. She woke up and went looking for Wendy first thing, trying to figure out in which corner of the house she was curled up fast asleep. She wept silent tears sitting in a corner when the doctor called to say Wendy was no more.
Brother – He wrestled the 40+kgs gal more often than not to the floor. Pinning her to the ground, not letting her move, and to watch her pretend to give in, only to fight back when he relaxed his grip on her, all the time seeming to have a smile on her face. He carried her up two flights of stairs when she could not walk any more. He went into his room locked the door and sobbed when he heard the news.
Dad – He bathed her, in the process having a shower himself every time she did the ‘rain dance’. He fed her. He drove her around. Walked with her. Brushed her teeth. Rubbed her head when she rested her face on his knee as he read the paper, or watched some television. He was the one who saw her alive for the last time. He got the call giving him the news from the hospital. He was the one who had to tell the rest of us. He was the one who had to keep up the brave front.
Wendy – she became the mascot of the surrounding flats. The kids adored her, and she adored them more in return. The couple living in the flat below, ‘borrowed’ her for their walks. Their child adopted her, and in return Wendy took her, under her wings. To watch them both together was a joy to behold.
The way her ears cocked when her name was mentioned during the course of a conversation any where in the house.
The way her head hung out of the second floor window, surveying the street.
The way she rushed to the window each time she heard dad’s bike, or my brother’s car. And then from the window to the door, waiting for who ever it was to enter the house.
The way she kept mum company in the kitchen when she went about her chores.
The way she alternated her time between mum in the kitchen and dad where ever he was in the house.
The one and only time she growled - Dad lost it with mum for some reason and was giving her a mouthful in the kitchen one day. Wendy walked in, stood between them facing dad, and let out this low growl. Don’t think dad has yet forgiven her that, nor has mum ever loved her more than, that day.
Her whole life is an impression on all of us who had the privilege of sharing space with her.
Where ever she maybe, I hope she is happy and misses us as much as we miss her.