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A letter to you, Ruby.

Dear Ruby,

Dogs can’t read as far as I know, but if you can somehow translate all these squiggly lines into tangible woofs, then this is for you.


I love you! We love you. We loved you and loved you and you’ve been the most wonderful four-legged family member we could have hoped for.

You drove me up the wall on a regular basis and I’m so sorry for my impatience towards you at times. Having a baby that needed to sleep and a dog that liked to bark is a tricky combination to manage. I’m sorry for getting frustrated with you. I’m sorry for getting overwhelmed when you’d run around my feet in circles and I was trying to hold the crying baby and all the shopping bags. I’m sorry for being one very flawed dog mum, when all you wanted to do was love us loudly and chaotically at all times.

I do hope that you believed me when I would pat your head and tell you I loved you each night before we’d go to sleep.

Whenever my husband, your dog dad, was out at a work thing at night you’d happily take up his half of the bed, resting your head on his pillow. You always knew when I needed you. Your butter yellow tummy and orange legs would always spill onto my side and if I dared to try claim some room back you’d grumble in protest. 

You were quite striking and we’d often get people asking, “what is she?” when we were out and about. Our best guess is a Labrador crossed with a Rhodesian Ridgeback, you had the mane when you barked and all, but being a SPCA special we never really knew. All we knew was that you were nervous and highly strung and smart and lovely. A bit of everything rolled into 32kg of skittish energy.

Thank-you for being so patient with our toddler, we know that she can be very big on the loving too. You had your moments of impatience, but ultimately you put up with so much and gave her so much joy. Her shrieks of laughter when you’d lick her hands or when she’d sneak her lunch to you showed us how happy you made her. You’re her favourite “awoofwoof”, even compared to the dogs in Hotel For Dogs, and that’s high praise. She loved “walking you” at the park and you spent so many hours on the playground with her, hours I know that you would rather have spent roaming in the bush. Every night she’d frantically wave goodnight to you, all up in your face, until you’d raise your eyebrows and give a huff of acknowledgment. You were her real-life Hercules Morse as big as a horse, and that’s something that takes a very special dog.

When I first met you I had just turned 17 and was in a bit of a rough patch. You were so small and bright orange! Your paws were unusually big! What was not to love? We must have been on hundreds of walks over our time together, to beaches and parks and streams, and you’d always help me to feel a sense of peace no matter what was going on.

You had your funny ways too. Like how you’d nip a tiny hole in any stuffed toy you’d get, carefully pluck out the stuffing, and then carry around the “skin” for months afterward. You hated flea treatment. You loved cheese. You’d sit so still for a bath with the hose, but refuse to have a nice, warm bath inside.

It would take you a while to warm up to people. You’d do your slinky dance when you’d get to know them, but once you trusted them they were Your People. I’m so thankful that even though we weren’t with you at the end, that people who you loved so much were. That gives me a tiny bit of relief in amongst everything else.

You chose a really stupid time to go, is it okay for me to say that? We never go away and then the one weekend that we’re hours from home on a whole different island, you decide that this is your time. We had no idea that your time would come so soon and it’s really hard to reconcile that we weren’t with you at the end. So yeah, I’m a bit mad about that. Pets are lovely and they also suck at times. They come into your life and you have all this love and then one day they’re just like, “byeee” and that’s that? Bloody cool aye.

We don’t know what or how to explain to our toddler what happened to you. Dog dad reckons that saying that you’re having a big sleep will do and I’m more on the “your body stopped working so your heart went to live in doggy heaven,” side of things. Either way it’s just going to suck because we all miss you and we have a 32kg orange hole in our hearts that we have to live with now.


I don’t really know how to end this other than saying that we love you and thank you for being in our lives. I hope the cheese is good wherever you are and know that now you’re gone, I’m going to have to vacuum way more, so thanks for that.

Love always,

Us.



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