How to live happier and make the world better

Research says loss of a partner with whom you’ve lived for many years is often made harder to bear because of the reaction of others.

What the researchers refer to relates to the heart-rending loss of a pet. They say that often results in profound grief that is unacknowledged by those around, and this extends or prolongs the mourning period. Prolonged grief can have severe effects on our mental and physical health.

We had a tough week this week with the loss of our partner of 15 years, Cocker Cola, a spaniel without equal in our eyes. That loss has been huge but made easier by all the kind comments and sympathies which have come our way from people who knew Cola, as our dog and a volunteer at parkruns and Remembrance Parades but also from people who never met him but wanted to send us kind thoughts.

People who knew him as a pup, others who knew him as a boatdog, and many who never met him but who recognise the deep bonds we build with our pets. I am hugely grateful for the hundreds of messages, emails, tweets and WhatsApps. Taking time to extend sympathetic kindness when people could just have ignored my post in the maelstrom of social media really made a positive difference.

Cola was a working cocker whose work was to keep 3 generations of this family adored, valued and consoled over his time with us.

Into those silky black ears we have all poured troubles, excitements, hopes and fears that we didn’t want to tell others. Not once has he spilled the beans, made a comment, voiced an opinion or given advice – however well meaning. Bad days have been made good, tensions and tempers calmed by a walk with him or a chance to sit stroking his soft black fur.

Since the day in 2008 he left his mum Matty and travelled from Sally and Vic Bleming’s home to ours, he has been a constant, loyal black shadow He’s padded beside us through our homes, walks, hikes, high days and holidays. That black nose and big paws have over the years opened cupboards, doors, gates and one memorable year identified and opened all the edible gifts under the tree before Christmas.

Cola was not really ours. He was our daughter Freya’s, her 13th birthday present. When she went away to university, he stayed at home, enthusiastically welcoming her whenever she returned.

When she started work and moved away, he holidayed with her often but stayed with us, a generosity of hers for which I will always be grateful. When we moved onboard Preaux to live as continuous cruisers, Cola moved with us. As a spaniel who adored water, living on the boat was heaven.

He had his own porthole where he’d sit looking out at the world as we travelled, or just looking at us. It was perfect for him – he was still with us which was always where he wanted to be, but he was also able to watch the ducks go by, and enjoy the warmth from the engine beneath the deck boards (once the smoke too when things over heated and he disappeared in a cloud, but still sat still as we rushed about like headless chickens).

He loved the long walks in ever changing places, the fact that each time he hopped off the boat he was greeted with new smells and new places to explore, things to roll in and he always shared his delights with us (whether we wanted it or not) with a generosity of spirit.

He enlivened boatlife particularly in his own indomitable way.

Our first night on board he went overboard in the darknesswhen he misjudged the jump into the bow and plungrd into an inky black flooding, swirling River Soar. Only the fact that Steve had him on a lead meant he wasn’t swept away. We finally landed him, a sodden mass back on board by getting a towel underneath him and using it as a hoist.

He’s always hurled himself deliberately with glee into rivers and canals – always keen for a dip. In more recent years, as his brain and eyesight have dimmed, he’s become a bit of a liability. Sometimes, he’d forget which way we’d moored and fail to seek out the towpath side before jumping off the back of the boat… more recently, he’d stop on the canalside, and his old legs would give way with a wobble, and he’d fall in with a splash.

Fishing him out seemed a small price to pay for all his unquestioning companionship. To towel him off, and not mind when he shook himself all over us, and embued the boat with the unique aroma of canal-water-wet dog.

Over the years he’s recultivated gardens, retrieved our chickens and shoes (always singly, never in pairs), dropped single shoes overboard and developed a singular reputation for his one bad habit of stealing food from plates, pockets, handbags and sometimes out of people’s hands (often without them even noticing).

He loved mud, muck, water, FOOD (the capitals are his) and unquestionably all of us. Three generations of our family have benefited from his hairy embraces and protection. He’s been a favourite with dog lovers and even won over non-canine enthusiasts. He adored us all, never bothered about how we looked or felt – he just wanted to be with us.

When pets are with you day in, day out, when you work from home particularly as we do, in a small space, they are the most important compananion. The most constant, uncritical and enthusiastic of friends. They are a reassuring  presence of good in our lives.

He aged rapidly at the end. He slept for England – often having often having to be lifted onto his favoured sleeping spot – the sofa.

Towards the end he became doubly incontinent. Our furniture took on a strange crackling sound from its waterproof covers. He often to be carried to places when his legs gave out. That just seemed a small repayment for all the good times he gave us still.

The arthritis pain never made him grumpy, even when it made walking, which he loved, a real struggle sometimes. His bad days began to outweigh the good, his hearing left him in a quiet world where fireworks no longer bothered him but equally he could no longer hear the rustle of a wrapper in the kitchen. However, try opening a packet of biscuits to indulge quietly, and you would fail to remain alone for long. That nose would nudge the back of your knee in hope – his sense of smell never deserted him. When his tail stopped wagging, he signalled his end.

This dog taught me patience, gratitude, and a real joy for life every day of his 15 years with us. Not once did he complain or sulk, or greet us with anything but glee.

His legacy is simple:

• Be unfailingly, uncritically supportive of those around you.
• Enthuse over important things like food, long country walks, wild swimming, a comfy sofa, warm fires, and good company.
• Show and share your pleasure with others.

Let’s all make life better for ourselves and those around us at home and at work – let’s just be more Cola.