THE SWEET SORROW OF GOODBYE

Steve felt his heart ache with sorrow as he reached the exact spot where ordinarily,  joy and laughter featured on the well earned lines of his forty something face.  Now there was an emptiness,  a void, as though a part of him had somehow died.

He pondered how such a daily occurance as a walk in the park can be taken for granted,  become a part of one's daily life to the point of feeling instinctive,  natural,  like the very motion of inhailing and exhailing breath themselves.   Now,  his heart felt hollow and broken,  and even the memories of so many happy years could not prevent the corners of his eyes from becoming moist.    He felt so foolish,  this burly rugby sevens player,  this man's man, the rock of inspiration for his family and friends reduced to a gibbering wreck on the cusp of shedding tears.  But this feeling within,  these memories relived,  truly hurt.

Walking along through the familiar avenue of Oaks,  his mind cast back to the day that little snouty bundle of fur and ears was brought round to the family door by neighbours having rescued him from being drowned by his owner,  callous and unsympathetic to a new litter of six German sheppherd puppies.  It was love at first sight, though Steve had always claimed the dewy childlike fawning of daughters Emily and Casandra had forced his reluctant hand in offering the little tyke a permanent roof.

Was that really fifteen years ago?     Emily now at college studying Law,  and Casandra herself a mother,  so calm and natural. Even Valerie was,  back then at least,  a doting wife and mother,  before the days of independence loomed like the cythe of old Death  himself over the mariage,  and the need to 'find herself' ,  which strangely precluded Steve,  and necessitated the company of his former closest friend!

Steve came to a halt by a particularly aged and impresive oak which,  up until a week ago, he had always hidden behind as Major chased after his favourate scruffy ball,  albeit at a leisurely pace with tired old limbs racked and riddled by the cruel hand of arthiritis,  and eyes of cateract whitish hue.  In his pocket he fumbled for the tiny gold coloured metal plate,  the nametag which had adorned Majors neck all these years.  Rusted somewhat,  bent and aged,  he gently rubbed the disc between his index finger and thumb, and sucked in a lungful of air.

Through good times and bad,  the pain of divorce,  the sorrow of losing a kid brother to the ravages of illness,  in all that time there had been one constant. When an empty house beckoned as children departed on their individual quest for lives, and Valeria moved to the warmth of another's bed,  that silly creature had greeted Steve at the door.  That big fluffy mound of loving fur, Major had given years of loyal affection,  asking little in return other than some hearty food,  and his daily walkies.

This pain was real, this wound was deep.  As Steve walked back to the confines of his lonely Jeep,  still high with the aroma of wet dog and wearing a coat of moulting hairs with rpide,  still harbouring the blanket in which Major had made that final, tortuous visit to the veterinary practice,   he placed the key into the ignition barrel and gave one final look at the avenue of oaks.

" Farewell old boy"

The engine thrummed with a tappety resonance, as wheels slowly turned and yet another chapter of Steve's life came to an end.