We are dragging ourselves around the LaLa this morning, mourning Wolfie, our precious dog. But more sadly is what Tatjana feels never having had a dog before, or let me put it this way, never having had a dog, much less a special dog like Wolfie was to her. Once you have had that dog, it’s hard to imagine a companion that would fill their pawprints again. I had that with Samm, a curmudgeonly Pembroke Corgi who was my buddy. Loca has actually come close to being what Samm was to me, but special dogs like Wolfie come along once in a blue moon.
T keeps showing me a photograph of Wolfie in her office and it’s blurry. I keep looking at it and wondering why out of all the photos we have this is the one she keeps staring at – she sent it to me in an email with a Tennyson poem. You cannot really know what Tatjana saw in Wolfie or what Wolfie saw in Tatjana, but they knew.
In memoriam to my Vushka.
I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Lord Tennyson
