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)

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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)

I’m thinking about getting one of those old fashioned phones. You know, the ones with the dial on the front and a long spiral cord that we used to tangle our fingers in. Forget Smart phones that text, Whatsapp, message and email – I want to dial a number and talk. I realise this might sound a little crazy to some but what has happened to the art of conversation?

Let’s face it, funerals bring people together. Once the emotional upheaval of the service is over, the wake becomes a time to catch up and share memories with the ones left behind, especially the family. It’s easy to get caught up in the occasion and promise to be on the other end of a phone whenever you may be needed but for those left behind at the end of the day, promises fade like the flowers filling the corners of an empty house. The daily calls becomes occasional texts and eventually social media reminders of birthdays and the such like. It’s easy to feel forgotten and isolated, trust me I know the feeling. I felt hurt that my so-called friends and funeral attendees no longer wanted to know if I was okay but it took the death of my father in law for me to see things from the other side, sometimes you have to be the one to reach out and say hello. No one knows you need them until you pick up the dog and bone but no one feels remembered until someone reminds them.

Loneliness is, to me, a very subjective term. I don’t feel lonely but I hate being alone. I’m not really alone though, my dogs are great conversationalists, it’s very Shirley Valentine here. But I miss the companionship of another human, someone you can share your daily mind bubbles with. Someone who you can have an in depth debate with over dinner without drool pooling at your feet. Someone who rings you in the middle of the working day just to see how you’re feeling. Someone who can join the daily dog gossip, I’m not convinced some of my canine compatriots share my political views ( well they do have German, Scottish, Romanian, Norfolk, Mexican and Yorkshire loyalties). I’m in no rush however, it’s still kinda nice to curl up with a warm ball of terrier and listen to the dreams of squirrels, sticks and sandwiches….

‘‘They never talk about themselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up an appearance of being interested in the conversation’ (Jerome K Jerome)

I must be one of the rare few that get more stressed by doing nothing rather than doing everything. Having spent most of my adult life chasing time and complaining about it, I’m now getting all teary eyed at not being able to. I come from a family of toilers, I’m not good at not toiling. What adds to the frustration is that it is not by choice and like most in my position, I need to earn to pay bills. If only I was ambidextrous but alas not and the continued pain in my right arm has made working limited. Thanks for nothing Doc.

Restricting things physically is not beneficial to my brain. As someone who has always wanted to write, you’d think this self inflicted ‘time out’ would be the perfect time to pen thoughts to paper but no. Brain has gone into blog fog. Actually it’s more like a pea souper at the moment. Every day becomes an endless one of menial daily tasks on auto pilot to the point where you just want to vent expletives at some one. Virgin Media got quite an ear full but that was their fault and deserved. My apologies to the poor bloke in India or Outer Mongolia who took the call however.

My lateness in writing this however is not entirely down to my endless education in time wasting, I went to my father in law’s funeral on Monday. It was a beautifully poignant service, the Ton Class Association banner and whistle got the tissues out, the naval cap atop the coffin and my sister in law doing her reading finishing most of the congregation off. But it was the wake afterwards that sent the mind bubbles into chaos. For those who don’t know hat a mind bubbles is, listen to Jo Whiley on Radio 2. Basically it’s all those thoughts that randomly run through your head. Anyway, I digress. Again. The last time I saw the Stewart family was at Tony’s funeral so you’d think I would feel the bond wouldn’t you? Nope. I felt like an outsider, an alien intruding. The sheer size of the Stewart/Stein family would scare the most dedicated journalist (a few celebs in there) to defect to the Daily Mail but it was the realisation that my only real link with the family was through the death of those we loved. And then there was the helplessness of watching my son who would rather have been on Mars that have been the subject of no weddings and too many funerals. My only saving mind bubble was that, although I had imbibed a little too much of the grape, would anyone really remember me?

Truth is, I was relieved to get home the following day. I missed the crazy of my dogs. They don’t judge or ask awkward questions. It was the first night since T’s death, I had spent a night in bed alone and I couldn’t sleep. I missed the irritation of scratching, sniffing, bed hogging and sleep woofing that has kept the mind bubbles at bay. I missed being home even if it was doing nothing other than time wasting dog cuddles and long walks….

So last week saw the start of the Chinese New Year, the Year of the Pig no less. So me being me naturally googled what 2019 would hold for Horses like me. Well, actually I’m a Fire Horse but the less said about that the better. Anyway, and more importantly, I wanted to know what the year ahead had in store for me. It’s an annoying part of my personality, I hate not knowing what’s going on. Unfortunately not a lot according to the Social Media Experts, us Horses are supposed to relax and take it easy because 2020 is going to be a challenging one. Really? More challenging than the last year?

When Tony died, I went through a phase of Feng Shui’ing the house, positive vibes and all that. I put water fountains in X corner and purple silk flowers in another. I did everything by the book, obsessed with the idea that I could swing the universe in my favour. So far, the universe and I have come to blows, more negatives than positives let’s face it. Danny Boy and Arry had a rare fight, Mo Cridhe got the giardia bug, probate is still a word that means zip all, my father in law passed away and to cap it all, my mentor and friend has last stage cancer. The stars have auto correct problems in my opinion.

I think there comes a certain point in widowhood where you cant’ move forward or backwards. Until probate is resolved, you can’t make plans for the future and social activities bring what has been lost to the present. I went to a school reunion this weekend which was the first since T had passed away. I found myself repeating the same spiel about Tony to everyone who asked. No emotion, just repetition. I’m stuck on auto pilot.

I had a rare moment on Sunday however. I slept an extra hour and woke up ‘star-fished’ in bed. For the first time in 9 months, I had used the whole bed, not just my side. Alice, as always, was tucked under my arm but the rest of the dog bed hogs had moved to their canine comfort suites elsewhere. It was a very odd feeling, part of me felt guiltily liberated but the other, a little depressed. What if the future meant being waking up in a double bed by myself but oh, how lovely to have a bed to myself? Sort of. The dogs find the idea of human bed space irresistible and before you say 07.30 , they find a warm spot on your pillow. I need to be more like my dogs, finding opportunities to relax regardless of what may happen in the future. And having a few furry bellies to snuggle into and forget about the universe and the stars for a while can never be anything less than a positive start to the day, can it?

“Do not let yesterday use too much of today” Chinese proverb