This is a very tough blog to post, so I’ll cut right to the chase. This time last year, we learned that Clementine had idiopathic epilepsy. Unfortunately, despite everyone’s best efforts at managing the disease, the seizures became uncontrollable, and we made the very hard decision to put Clemmie to sleep.

Losing a pet in the prime of life is particularly hard. It’s just not right.

We lost Burton, the darker coloured brother of Taylor, a while ago at age fourteen.

 I was convinced Taylor would be devastated at losing her littermate, but she’s a tough old gal and rallied quickly.

Ever-patient, always nurturing of the little ones (and in Dundee’s case, not so little these days). Taylor is still with us; she will be sixteen in November. 

There is a rhythm and an acceptance to pets passing on in the fullness of time. We were very sad to lose Dundee’s predecessor, Tigger, at eighteen years of age, and little Ronnie, our four-pound “permanent kitten”, left us just before Christmas, also at eighteen. But they had lived extraordinary, long lives and enjoyed them right to the end.

So now we adjust again. How a house with two dogs and two cats can feel empty is beyond me. 

Clementine was always an anxious dog; epilepsy betokened a “noisy brain”. Remember Operation Calming Clementine, in which we enlisted the help of a maze bowl to slow down her frantic feeding?

The anxiety around eating never left her, though we did manage to slow her down a bit. All the drugs for epilepsy caused her to chubb out a bit, but she was always famished. 

Dundee misses his playmate.

But, somewhat surprisingly, it’s Churchill who is really moping. His morning wrestling companion is gone. No more “put on your warface and let’s playfight”.

Walking just one dog is really weird. Somewhat like the Queen, Taylor doesn’t go on long walks anymore, leaving only Churchill to walk between Glenn and me. Nobody is happy about it.

But we will adjust. We miss you terribly, Clemmie. And at the same time, you’re finally at peace.