I went out for lunch with my mother-in-law last week at the V&A. I only mention the last bit as we had been to see the Dior exhibition which is stunning if you are lucky enough to get a ticket. Anyway, for an hour or so, we became ladies who lunch in posh places and catch up over a glass of wine.

It was over the decadent Pinot that Jenny posed a question to me, “why do you call you blog the widow plus woofers?”. Now I have to admit, the answer seemed rather obvious to me but I replied that I felt it was a catchy title. “I meant why do you call yourself a widow? I don’t label myself with that word, I’m just me” she countered, “and it reminds me of a spider”. I nearly snorted my wine. However, once I had rebalanced my breathing and stifled the giggle, I pondered over her comment as the conversation turned to less provocative conversation. Why do define ourselves with such a dreadful tag? And will Jenny always be my mother-in-law or does that change now I’m theoretically not actually married to her son anymore?

Let’s face it, there’s no way you can inject any happiness into the word widow. I mean, you can have a happy marriage or an amicable divorce but losing a life partner is not a chosen path. Unless you’re a murderous spider. Even translated into other languages it sounds depressing; ‘veuve’ in French, ‘vedova’ in Italian, ‘viuda’ in Spanish. Like I said, it’s not a word we choose to label ourselves with. But is Jenny right? Should we just be defined as ‘me’ and not the product of a life changing event?

My son came home after a month or so away and Yogi Bear went nuts. I could have got a million hits on social media if I had recorded the reunion but my son hates cameras so the happy canine conga with the rest of the pack bouncing along remains private. And I joined in the happy dance too, my boy is home. Yup, I can be mum for a while again. He came well-equipped with dirty laundry, a bottomless appetite and lots of hugs. Being Mum is certainly a word I love to be defined by because I’m a much better me when he’s got his feet up on the sofa surrounded by furries even if there’s only a corner left for the lady of the house/widow/dog owner/blonde/middle aged/mother/female/…..insert label….

“a dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance and to turn around three times before lying down” (Robert Benchley)

I decided this week that mind and body need exercise. With all the mental see sawing of last week, it was time to “accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative” (great song by Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers 1945 by the way). And with a potential glimpse of sunny days on the horizon, the less sag the better.

I have to admit, I have developed an aversion to exercise post Tony dying, after all he was a devoted gym junkie and look how that turned out. Nevertheless, having spent a couple of days in the presence of my superfit sister and sister-in-law (the push ups made me go green and not in the environmental sense), I dusted off the yoga mat, made a decent space to practise and downloaded a few programs on the tv. I’d like to point out that I know it isn’t ideal to have a tv in the bedroom but there’s nowhere else to put it whilst have the house is being renovated. Anyway, it serves a purpose. As does Yogi Bear who feels his presence at one end of the mat is motivational and occasionally raises a back leg in sympathy. Still a fitter bod might help the mindset and the inner confidence one needs to feel better about oneself. I am in the zone.

A few on my local support group have been musing about the pros and cons of dating websites. I hate the lonely evenings but to be honest, I worry about my trust in starting again after 28 years. But it would be nice at some point to meet someone who could fill the void so I had another look at a few recommended sites, eek!! How do I write a suitable profile? Who would want to respond to me? I’m 52! Oh, the drain on my new yoga-fied self-confidence! But I don’t want to be that sad, lonely, crazy dog lady so how can I find a bloke? What would they think about Arry? Would Neo have an epiphany? I think this is the point where I write this is to be continued as my dogs have definite views on peeps…. gives food, walks a lot, gives food, walks a lot, likes Antiques Roadshow, walks a lot, hates dog baths, likes Sundays everybody in bed a lot…..answers on a postcard please….

“When a man (woman!)’s best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem”(Edward Abbey)

I suppose it was inevitable that I would encounter a pot hole or two somewhere on this journey, I just wasn’t expecting so much subsidence afterwards. After 11 months of widowhood, I thought I had this coping thing down to a fine art but life has a habit of testing you apparently.

Like most of us Britons, the prospect of an Easter weekend bathed in warm sunshine was enough to bring on a happy dance. I am definitely a sun bunny. I dug out the factor 50, cleared the work decks, charged the kindle and decamped to the front garden with equally joyous dogs. I also had an invitation to Sunday dinner with close friends which of course, I accepted.

I wonder if my sub conscious knew something I didn’t because unusually for an evening with friends, I decided to drive over and forgo the drink. It was halfway through the meal when I had what could only be described as a minor panic attack. I don’t know why but knew I had to go so made my excuses (can’t leave the woofers too long) and came home. I felt like I felt the day after he died, disengaged from life and numb again. What the hell happened?

It’s taken a few days for me to defog the brain and bring some clarity to the hiccup. I think the looming first anniversary is a psychological niggle but the complete family sitting round the table was probably the proverbial straw. I will never have that again and that’s tough on the mentals. But I’ll dust myself off, bandage the bruises and get back up the hill. I just have to watch my step a little more carefully…

“You know, a dog can snap you out of any kind of bad mood that you’re in faster than you can think of.” (Jill Abramson)

The last week has been, for want of a better description, an emotional merry-go-round. It’s also been a rare one in that I haven’t been the focus of my attention which has been strangely relaxing. And I survived two plane journeys to France and back. Life over the last seven days belonged to the 3 F’s; friends, family and familiarity.

One of the many wonderful things about having friends like mine is being persuaded to do something you wouldn’t normally think of doing yourself and aren’t entirely convinced you would want to anyway. In this case, it was going to a matinee performance of a musical which I really didn’t feel was my cup of tea. I wasn’t wrong and thankfully it was short but spending time catching up in a pub over the road was worth the trip ‘up West’. I did however leave the woofers for longer than I intended so was rewarded with an escort to the dog biscuit tin.

I hate flying but I’d do it for family and the chance to catch up with my siblings (a rarity seeing as we live in separate countries) and their add-ons for my Mum’s 80th birthday was a no-brainer. The last time we were together was at Tony’s funeral so good food, too much wine and hilarious reminiscing was the perfect tonic. And since my mum has always been the one we dump all our problems on, seeing how happy and relaxed she was made the ensuing hangover worth it. That and the poignant conversation my sister-in-law had with me about T and his gentleness (her words). Having left the woofers with my trusted dog sitter, I made it home 48 hours later and once again was frog marched to the biscuit tin. Considering dogs are supposed to give unconditional love, I was beginning to feel my lot had their priorities skewed.

Yesterday was a toughie, Keith’s funeral. It was a beautiful tribute to an incredible and, judging by the packed church, very very popular man. Even the taxi driver who dropped us off commented on the number of guests waiting to go into the service. Having worked with Keith and his many vets and nurses for so long, familiar faces lined the pews and I felt a sense of belonging sitting amongst those who had helped carve my career for over 20 years. Keith was so much more than a vet to us, he was a friend. After another round of reminiscing and reunions, I once again returned home, emotionally wrung out and exhausted after the week’s whizzing about. Expecting the usual response to their Mistress’ return, I have to hand it to the woofers bless them. They greeted me as if I had suddenly gained celebrity status, tails wagging and bodies pushing to get the first cuddle. After a week of love, laughter and tears, it’s comforting to know the 3 F’s exist in my woofers world too. Biscuit tin forgotten, Mum was back and that was all that mattered….for a few minutes anyway.

” If you get to thinking you’re a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else’s dog around” (Anon)

”

There should be rules laid out for the first year of widowhood, such as limiting the number of deaths one is supposed to cope with. Just as I was beginning to find my footing again, my mentor and biggest supporter passed away. I knew it was coming but we were having such fun planning the new venture, I sort of forgot Keith wasn’t going to be around forever. And today I lost an old fur covered friend, Brooklyn, who had been a part of my working life for over 12 years and bestie to my late Macgyver. I feel as if every time I almost reach the top of that mountain, a landslide pulls my feet from underneath me.

As I have mentioned before, I spend Sundays at home with the dogs. They don’t get walked as I believe that dogs as active as mine need a rest day. They know when Sundays come around and take great delight in sprawling across my bed or the floor around whilst I watch the news channel over breakfast on the remaining square inch of duvet space. Considering how excited they get every other morning at the prospect of an hour or so taking in all that the local park has to offer, it seems out of character to find them relishing down time. Arry, especially. Arry who spends six days a week between two speeds, park and turbo, yet stretches his whole body out alongside me with his head on my chest for the seventh. It’s funny how I feel the rest is necessary for my dogs.

I don’t think I’m alone as a widow in having an insane need to keep constantly busy although I do come from a family of grafters which has probably contributed to my frenetic work/no life balance. But this emotional see saw is starting to take it’s toll and I’m getting tired, bone deep exhausted. I’ve been driving at full speed for the last 11 months and the engine is failing, I need to park up and get out. The trouble is, I have no idea what to do if I stop but perhaps that’s the point. I won’t know until I do.

“All knowledge, the totality of all questions and all answers is contained in the dog” (Franz Kafka)

I decided this week that I needed a mind body overhaul. I’ve never been one of those people who likes living on their own so the last 10 months has led so some unhealthy choices creeping into my daily routine. As any widow or widower will tell you, the evenings are the worse. Without anyone to talk to about your day, it’s easy to miss a meal because eating alone is depressing or pour a few extra glasses just so you can block out the silence. Before you think I’m forgetting the dogs, I’m not. They mean the world to me and are a wonderful distraction but the conversation tends to be one sided.

The problem is that self-pity does nothing for self-esteem. I started to get more and more frustrated with my lack of oomph during the day which in turn made me dread the nights even more. In my quest to find ‘me’, I had taken a left turn. So I took one look in the proverbial mirror and waved goodbye to the pathos. I packed away the wine glass, did an online grocery shop and downloaded a meditation app onto my kindle. I never do anything by halves.

I think it’s working. I’m certainly sleeping better and emotionally I think I’m much calmer. I found a frankly moreish posh brand of ginger beer which floats my boat and, apart from my crisp addiction, I am eating much healthier. I’m even starting to concentrate on my meditation which, trust me when you have dogs, is not a simple task. You see, the only place I can find to practice this ancient art of oneness is on my bed. And the dogs love my bedroom. It is the only place in the house where Mum is sitting still long enough for them to relax, which means lying as close to her as feasibly possible. It’s a place of serenity..normally. However for some reason known only to them, they find my cross legged calmness the perfect time to clean their private parts or re enact Top Gun. I feel the path to inner peace may not be the quietest of journeys but I’ve never been one who likes travelling alone. I’ll just follow the paw prints…

“A dog can’t think that much about what he’s doing, he just does what feels right” (Barbara Kingsolver)

Do you ever feel like you have been sitting on a plane taxiing forever and then it takes off when you least expect it and suddenly you’re not sure if you if you are ready for the journey ahead? Even if you know the destination will be worth it? Well, that’s me right now and I’m scared of flying.

Starting a new venture at the age of 52 can be scary for anyone but when you have spent most of your adult life sharing your everyday wobbles with the one person you can’t talk to ever again, you feel completely on your own. And that’s the hardest part of the journey. Going it alone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful to be going into business with an amazing bunch of like-minded people but not being able to ring , text or just talk to Tony, well it sucks.

Making plans without someone to boost your engine or bring you back down to earth really knocks your self-confidence. A power cut the other night made me feel so useless and stupidly nervous. The number of scented candles lit made the house look like a den of disrepute. Luckily I had what I consider a brainwave and googled ‘what to do if you get a power cut’. The ‘leccy company were very helpful and I was relieved I wasn’t the only home in the road to be plunged into darkness and perfumery. I know I wasn’t really on my own, 10 dogs would keep out the boogeymen but I was really unsettled. I woke up at 3 o’clock in the morning to Blackpool illuminations in the suburbs. Phew.

Learning to take off by oneself is all very well but it’s rather nice when the flightpath gets diverted a little, in this case the builders started. Actually having the other voices chattering around the place and other humans to discuss your ideas with is a welcome distraction. I might be feeling a little less enthused after 3 months of living in chaos but at least the days are getter longer and London is thinking of Spring. As Tony used to say when we started a journey ” do you want to go straight there or shall we take the scenic route?” I think I know which travel plan I’d rather take right now. So yes, I’m scared of flying but as long as I have a window seat, getting to my destination should be interesting.

“Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in the car, in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear” (Dave Barry)

There is, one supposes, a time in any bereavement where you have to make a decision about your own life. Whether you take that step through the portal into the unknown or stay in the familiar. The latter is easy but will get you nowhere but the alternative is scary, leaping into somewhere if even you don’t know where somewhere is. And you’re doing it on your own.

I had had the thought that once probate was settled, I would feel some sort of peace. A door closing on the emotional turmoil of the past 10 months but I felt nothing. I don’t know what I expected really but at least a sense of purpose would have been a start? Without Tony’s calm, practical and ‘I know what you’re like’ insights, I had no-one to sound bite with. I mean, the dogs are great company and make me smile every day but their thoughts run more to food, park run, sleep, cuddles, squirrels, next door’s cat, more park runs….Fun but not helpful. I needed to wake up and smell the coffee (I love coffee), my life needed a health kick.

One thing I have learnt through the widowhood process is that if you close one door, you need to open another otherwise the space around you becomes suffocating. Opening a new one is like shoving your foot through a one way portal and hoping the ground is solid on the other side. But I did it and you know what? It’s quite exciting this side. Scary but exciting. I made a decision, thanks in part to the new ventures, to leave a business I have loved and run for 22 years. Tony would be proud of me, he always said that Dog Hollow was the third ‘person’ in our marriage, I just wish I had had the foresight to do it whilst he was still with me.

Well, I’ve thrown myself through the portal now, there’s no going back. Life will no doubt bring new challenges now and no T to rely for directions but I’m optimistic for once. I have my friends and several paws to guide me, I’m just not sure my darling Arry that attempting to leap over next door’s fence to catch Shiloh is a life goal…..

“Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole one more” (Agatha Christie)

It was a feeling I will never forget. As I sat on the floor cradling Tony’s head as the paramedics calmly whispered to me “he’s gone”, I felt the sheets of glass snap into place around my heart, numbness enveloped me like wet clay. As long as the armour was in place, I could function. Sort of. I have never cried. Tears at the funeral yes but never broken down. I have shut that part of my emotions behind the glass shield, self- preservation I suppose. Until last week that is.

It was a week like any other week, work to do and mindless hours to fill yet something triggered the fractures. I felt as though shards of glass were splintering internally, every wall crumbling. I missed him so badly, I was breaking apart, the pain was indescribable. But I still didn’t cry. I’m not proud of the fact, just wondering why that despite the bone deep hurt I still couldn’t? What’s wrong with me?

One night I noticed Yogi Bear lying on the floor next to Callum’s bed. As Callum is in France at the moment, I wondered why Yogi hadn’t moved into my room as the rest of the dogs do so I went in to see if he was okay. He looked so sad. I picked him up and put him on my bed where he curled up on the pillow next to me and I realised why I have held everything together for so long. You see, Yogi was with Tony when he had the cardiac arrest but was immediately removed from the room. The same room that Callum has renovated into his own one. And now Callum has gone away. Yogi needs me, all of me, as do all my dogs. Dogs can’t blog, Facebook, chat over a pint about how they feel but they experience the same emotions as we do.

Oddly enough, the mid week meltdown turned out to be a somewhat ‘cleansing’ experience. Life gives you chances that you can either take or curl up and ignore. Being a widow plus 10 dogs isn’t going to get any easier any time soon but maybe it is time to let the glass break where it may, as long as I protect the paws and all……

“he will sleep on the cold ground where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely if only he be by his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer. He will lick the wounds and sores that come with encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert he remains” (George G Vest 19th century American senator)

You know those action movies where the ambushed hero keeps getting back up in a fight even though he/she has been shot, stabbed, punched in the eye and so on? Well, that’s me versus the universe right now. And frankly, it’s getting a little annoying. A bit like those long action sequences . Just as I think the horizon is clearing, another fist is swung in my direction. But I’m still standing, plasters on the bruises yes but upright and fingers up to the stars.

And the week had started so well. The weather gave us a little taster of Spring to come and I had an exciting glimpse of the future after a meeting with old friends. Having a con-flab in a hospice room was a first especially since our arbiter was a rather handsome Pointer and the chairman was in bed. Thank you to all the amazing staff at Royal Trinity Hospice for looking after our man about town, words will never be enough to say how special you are. Anyway I digress as usual. The sun was shining, the meeting was uplifting and I finally felt that soupy fog clearing. The grooming room bookings were floating in and I had a lovely chat with the Animal Welfare Officer when he popped by with my license. I was back to my normal Energy Bunny self. But my foe was still waiting for the right moment to stick the next punch in. The weather decided it wasn’t quite ready for the sun the next day and I woke up with a cold. I had another row with Virgin Media, apparently they only supply the broadband, the WiFi strength is a lottery and the final hit, someone nicked my car number plates. “Bam”, “thwack”, “slap”, “kapow” but I’m still standing.

As the widow timeline moves towards the 10 month mark, the whimsical ideas of ‘re evaluating’ my life are becoming exciting possibilities instead. Tony was only 56 when he died. I’ll be 53 this year. It’s not so much the desire to change my life now because his death proved that life is too short, I see it more as do what I want to do rather than doing something because I have to. I don’t want to regret not taking the leap even if life has a habit of tripping me up regularly at the moment. Perhaps it takes the loss of the one you expected to spend the rest of your life with to make you wake up, smell the coffee and dance naked in the ocean, I don’t know. But the restlessness is there.

Tony had a really annoying phrase, ” you always have a choice” he used to say. I wish he had had one. Yet it gives me a sense of calm, a familiar voice chastising me when I want to curl up and give in. But I won’t. I’m going to take his advice and get my wetsuit on. Knowing the relationship between me and the universe right now, she’d probably make sure that bit of ocean was filled with jellyfish…….

” My dog is usually pleased with what I do, because she is not infected with the concept of what I should be doing” (Lonzo Idolswine)