Saturday, April 18, 2009

A small wave

In October 2007, I started writing Mossie's story. At the time, all sorts of stuff was going on in my [un]real world which I could not write about. It was so painful and, even with the privacy afforded by blogging anonymity, I could not set it down.

A little while earlier, our much loved and very old dog had died. Because of all the other rubbish, I felt so completely alone, betrayed and lost. Mossie filled the gap in the way that human contact could not. And so I wrote about the days with him, the small delights. Writing from his perspective gave me another layer to protect myself. A cloak of invisibility.

Writing brought its own joy. And blogging brought friends.


  1. It does make a difference. I felt it a sort therapy for coping with all the everyday crap and it really helped.

    Keep writing,


  2. How odd, I feel just the same. Fergus was my boy, my best friend and soul mate (even though he did his own thing and hadly ever did anything I asked him to do). I still yearn for him even now, 18 months after he went, I still don't quiet beleive he is gone.

    Even though it seemed an impossibly short space of time of just three weeks between Ferg going and Henry arriving, I have found myself with my second soul mate, Fergus-Reincarnate. He makes me laugh which is the best thing in the world and I know that I am his favourite human which is a massive honour and this time around I can share our story and hopefully spread the laughter and the good feeling that havng Henry around causes.x Catherine

  3. I meant to say well done you and Spot for getting up that great big hill. To my shame I have only climbed one hill round this house after climbing every hill around when I first arrived here in Scotland.

    Also you look perfectly sane, not a bit mad or dangerous!

  4. I think the best benefit of blogging is knowing there is a world of people out there who care and who have had experiences like yours as well. And the benefit of having a dog is having a faithful, loving, nonjudgmental companion. I love the picture of you.


Go on, have a little mumble here. You know you want to.