I wrote about dogs yesterday and one of the stories is incomplete so I’ll say a little more about dogs, and the love of dogs as well as the loss of dogs.

I saw Mabel in the street recently, she was standing on the train tracks having crossed half way, she looked a little disoriented. This was the first time I had ever seen her unaccompanied by Max. I said hello, and asked where her dear old dog was.

Mabel told me she was looking for Max, he had run away. The fact that Max’s top speed was a lumbering walk, and he had probably not run for years, was a moot point as I empathised with her dismay at the loss of Max.

A truck rattled over the railway lines and Mabel turned to watch it travel down the road. “Was that barking ?” she said, “Max might be locked in that truck.” I hadn’t heard a bark. We talked about places where Max might be, I promised to keep a look out. Mabel imagined punishments to administer on his return, no biscuits for bad dogs.

We crossed the tracks and said farewells on the next corner.

I couldn’t help but recall the refrain “Don’t die Max, don’t die”; Mabel’s plaintive pleading with Max to stay with her, a few weeks earlier. It is a bitter sweet thought that Max couldn’t die in Mabel’s mind. It is heartbreaking too that she might still believe Max ran away, leaving her to walk alone.

Today I was thinking about the experience of losing a dog, the loss of Wally. The weather in my stomach changed – a deep churning. Even now. I also know a little of the agony of waiting for someone, who is not coming home, to come home. Max would not have chosen to leave Mabel to wait for him.